
CvA B I N E T. 



OR, A 



COLLECTION OF CHOICE THINGS 



COMPRISING THE 



BEAUTIES OF AMERICAN MISCELLANIES 



LJST THIRTY YEARS 



BY A CITIZEN OF NEW-^ORK 

>■ — -x - x - x 



NEW-YORK : 
PRINTED BT FAN8HAW & CLAYTON 

No. 10 ClifF-street. 




1S15. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



In offering this interesting work to an enlightened 
public, but little need be said in its r-ecommendation. 
The compiler has employed his leisure hours for the 
last twenty years in transcribing, for his own amuse- 
ment, eveiy miscellaneous production that he deem- 
ed worthy of preservation ; and has, in this manner, 
collected a mass of entertaining, instructive, and use- 
ful matter. Although this selection was not originally 
intended for publication, yet, at the request of a num- 
ber of his friends, he has been induced to prepare it 
for the press, and he trusts that it will be found worthy 
of their support. 



CONTENTS, 



Federal Procession 9 

Vicissitudes of Fortune 53 

The Good Uncle 95 

Discovery of a Murderer 112 

Chaubert, the Misanthropist 120 

The Impressed Seaman 130 

The Moor 158 

The Welch Cottage 175 

The Reparation .* 184 

Youthful Imprudence 195 

Hamet and Berard, or, The Three Thieves 208 

Exaicnple better than Precept 216 

Abosaber the Patient 234 

The Robbers 24^ 

Bhazad the Impatient 260 

The Humane Highland Rebber 207 

Progress of Vice 272 

Bounty Rewarded, or the Worthy Soldier 277 

Eugenio, or the Adventures of a Soldier ....... 284 

Description of a Dinner 292 

Slavery . , 298 

Filial Piety . 300 

Particulars of the Life of Mary Brown 305 

The Influence of Riches 308 

On Society 316 

A True and very Remarkable Story 323 

A Reiparkable Instance of Filial Piety 327 

The Generous Pedlar 330 

Affecting Anecdote of the late Charles Churchill .... 333 

The Gamester 340 

Tbo Instability of Human Greatness , . 344^ 



A Remarkable Courtship , . . 345 

Horatio and Emma ^48 

Anecdote of Montesquieu 353 

The Mutton Chop -. ... 358 

A Country Night's Reflections 359 

Mendoza and Cornelia 361 

Humorous Letter 365 

The True Gamester 368 

On Riches 370 

The Three Dreamers ,371 

The Ungrateful Guest 373 

A Good Story 375 

The Mask 377 

Chinese Justice . 381 

The Humours of a Wet Sunday 382 

Anecdote 386 

Reward of Villany 387 

Tragical Account of a Courtezan who Murdered her Husband 389 

Horrid Instance of Depravity 394 

An ingenious way of raising Money ......... 395 

Resignation 396 

Indian Retaliation 397 

Extraordinary Love Letter 399 

A Guilty Conscience its own Punishment , . 402 

The Real Philosopher . 403 

Apple Du!Uj lings 405 

Ludicrous Anecdote 406 

The Storm 409 

Singular Memoirs of Pat O'Connor 410 

Delicate Benevolence 413 

Humorous Instance of Strong Superstitious Credulity . . . 414 

Singular Examination before a Justice of the Peace . . . 418 

Envy Rewarded . 420 

The Desperate iliover 421 

Anecdote of Marescbal Catinat 423 

Virtue and Vice .... ^^i^ 425 

I A Striking Inst-inrG of Courage* , . . . « . . 4.26 



7 

Singular Case of a Murder 428 

Spanish Cruelty 4^9 

The Shipwreck 43O 

Instance of Courage in two Boys . 433 

The Devil Cheated by a Shepherd 435 

Filial Piety 437 

Anecdote of a Miser 441 

Anecdote of the late Dr. Young 443 

The Force of Nature 444 

A Pious Fraud 445 

Account of a Remarkable Dream 44(5 

A Murderer discovered 447 






7 



THE 

CABINET, 

OR, A 

COLLECTION OF CHOICE THINGS. 

FEDERAL PROCESSION, 

IN HOKOUR OE 

TUB CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES. 

To testify the animated joy of the citizens of New- 
York, upon finding the federal constitution of govern- 
ment ratified by a sufficient number of states to 
make it operative, it was determined, that on the 
23d day of July, 1788, they should so appear in pro- 
cession, as to demonstrate to the world the pleasure 
that, in consequence of this event, had pervaded all 
ranks and degrees of the community. 

The day having been more than once postponed, in 
the interesting hope that this state, then in conven- 
tion, would likewise accede to the union, the com- 
mittee of arrangements found it impossible any lon- 
ger to oppose the patriotic ardour of their fellow-citi- 
zens. It was remembered, however, that the great 
object of exultation was not the ratifying of the con- 
stitution by any one particular state, but the already 
present existence of an era in the history of man, 
great, glorious, and unparalleled, which (^pens a va- 



10 

•iiety of new sources of happiness, and unbounded 
prospects of national prosperity ! The adoption of the 
federal plan bj this state, though not then expected 
to be immediate, was, however, with certainty con- 
sidered among those events which time, increasing 
light, and an overruling Providence, would bring to 
our view. 

About 10 o'clock, 13 guns were fired from the 
federal ship Hamilton^ being the signal for the pro- 
cession to move ; the different bodies of which it 
was composed, having already collected from their 
various places of meeting. It now set out from the 
fields, proceeding down Broadway to Great Dock 
Street, thence through Hanover Square, Queen, 
Chatham, Division, and Arundel Streets ; and from 
thence through Bullock Street to Bayard's house, in 
the folloAving order : 

Horsemen with trumpets. 

Company of artillery^ and field piece. 

After these, the whole procession was marshalled 
into ten divisions, each of which was preceded by a 
white flag, borne to the honour of the ten states that 
had then acceded to the new constitution. 

FIRST DIVISION. 

Foresters ivith axes, 

Columbus in his ancient dress, on horseback, re- 
presented hy Captain Moore. 



11 



Foresters with axes, ^c. 

A plough, drawn by six oxen, conducted by Nicho- 
las Cruger, Esq. in a farmer's dress, supporting the 
farmer's arms ; a flag, with a wheat sheaf on the 
field, on the hand of which was inscribed, " O For- 
tunati Agricola /" over which Avas a rising star. 

Two men sowing grain. 

A harrow, drawn by two oxen and two horses, con- 
ducted by Mr. John Watts, in a farmer's dress. 

A number of gentlemen farmers, with every im- 
plement of husbandry, displayed in a pleasing man- 
ner. 

A new invented threshing machine, (which will 
thresh and clean seventy-two bushels of grain in a 
day,) conducted by Baron Poelnitz, and other gen-^ 
tlemen farmers, dressed proper, grinding and thresh- 
ing grain. 

United States arms, borne by Col. White, on horse- 
back, supported by the Cincinnati ; the horse beau- 
tifully caparisoned, and led by two boys in a white 
uniform. 

A number of gardeners with aprons on, and vari- 
ous implements of husbandry. 

A band of music. 
Tailors. 

A flag, ten by eleven feet, field sky blue, a fine 
landscape, Adam and Eve represented naked, ex- 
cepting fig leaves for aprons, nearly in full stature, 



12 

in a sitting posture ; motto, " And they sewed tig 
leaves together ;" the United States forming a chain, 
or links, upon a large circle, in order as they adopted 
the constitution, and the names of each state in the 
middle ; in the centre of the circle, " Majority." 
The sun beaming forth its rays upon those states that 
have acceded to federal measures. Rhode Island 
in mourning. General Washington nearly in full 
stature, holding a parchment in his hand, with this 
inscription, " The federal constitution." The fede- 
ral eagle, with its wings expanded, soaring towards 
the sun : the whole hung in a large frame, with 
golden knobs at the tops of the poles ; carried by 
two standard bearers, and supported by two men, 
one upon each side of the flag, with fine blue and 
white cord, and elegant tassels in their hands. The 
flag preceded by a committee of six, three and 
three, joined together by white handkerchiefs, with 
buiT and blue sashes, and blue and buff cockades ; 
followed by Mr. John Elliot, President, with a blue 
and buff sash and cockade ; two of the committee, 
with buff and blue sashes and cockades, on each 
side of the President ; followed by the rest of their 
branch, all wearing blue and buff cockades. The 
order closed by Mr. John Banks, Vice President, with 
a sash and cockade like the President's, and two of- 
ficers, with buff and blue sashes and cockades ; three 
flank officers, as adjutants, dressed in sashes and 
cockades, with white rattans in their hands. The 
sashes and cockades emblematical of the staff uni- 
form of the American army. 



]S 



Measurers of Grain, 

An eifisign with a flag, representing the head oi* 
General Washington in the centre, ornamented with 
thirteen stripes and thirteen stars, wdth this motto ; 
" His Excellency General Washington ;" on the oppo- 
site side, the head of Col. Hamilton, beautifully 
painted; in the centre, a device representing the mea- 
sures used in the business, on one side of which was 
inscribed, in capitals, '^ Equity,-' surrounded with 
these lines : 

" Federal measures, and measures true, 

*' Shall measure out justice to us and to you.'' 

Two ships, one discharging salt, and the other 
taking in grain ; a store, with a merchant in front, 
viewing, ^vith a spy-glass, a French ship entering the 
harbour under full sail ; on the reverse, the same, ex- 
cept the Mayor of the City in the place of Col. 
Hamilton. The order headed by Mr. Van Dyke. 

Millets — No return. 

Inspectors of Flour — No return. 

Bakers. 

Headed by two masters, Messrs. JohnQaackinfcos, 
'and Frederick Stymes. 

Ten boys, dressed in white, with blue sashes, each 
of them carrying a large rose, decorated with various 
coloured ribands. 

Ten journeymen, dressed in white, with blue 
sashes, carrying implements of the craft. 



14 



A stage, drawn by two bay horses decorated. 

Four masters, with the federal loaf, ten feet long, 
twenty-seven inches in bread'th, and eight inches in 
heighth, with the names in full length of tlie ten 
states which have ratified the constitution, and the 
initial letters of the other three. 

A flag, representing the declension of trade under 
the old confederation. Motto, 

" When in confusion I was made, 

" Without foundation was I hiid ; 

" But hope the federal ovens may 

" My sinking frame full well repay." * 

On the reverse, the representation of their trade in a 
flourishing situation, with two ovens. Motto, 

" We are well built, both sound and tight, 
" We hope to serve the ships in sight, 
" With the best bread, bak'd with good flour, 
" When congress have the federal power." 

In the centre, the spread eagle and crown, holding 
on the left the old confederation, on the right, the new 
constitution ; Fame, with her trumpet, over it ; followed 
by eighty masters, journeymen, and apprentices, with 
white aprons. 

Bretvers, 

A standard, carried by Mr» Samuel Boyer, orna- 
mented with the brewers arms, proper, barley sheaves 
and porter casks, encircled with hop vines ; crest, an 
eagle with extended wings, holding a thermometer in 
his beak. Motto, "Home brewed." The federal 
brewery ; a horse and dray loaded, in full speed to 



15 

Bunkers Hill ; and other devices suitable to the 
occasion. 

Messrs. A. Lispenard, Appleby, and Matlack, with 
each an elegant gilt mashing oar in hand, and barley- 
heads in their hats, followed by two horses and drays, 
ornamented with hop vines and barley. First dray 
loaded with a store cask, containing three hundred 
gallons of ale, a porter cask and barrel ; on the top 
of the large cask was fixed a ton, with a hving Bac- 
ehus, a very handsome boy, of eight years old, dress- 
ed in flesh coloured silk, sewed tight round, from his 
chin to his toes ; a cap, ornamented with hop vines 
and barley, a silver goblet in his hand, drinking anc^ 
huzzaing the whole day with the greatest cheerful-! 
ness, performing his part to admiration. Below him^ 
sat Silenus, attendant on Bacchus, on a porter hogs- 
head. Motto, " Ale, proper drink for Americans." 

Second dray, loaded with porter casks and hop 
bags, followed by brewers and maltsters, with mash- 
ing oars, malt shovels, &c. twenty in number, orna- 
mented with barley and hop vines in their hats. 

Distillers-^No return. 

SECOND DIVISION. 

Coopers, 

Thirteen apprentice boys, thirteen years of age, 
dressed in white shirts, trowsers, and stockings, the 
trowsers drawn at the ancle with a green riband, 
their hats ornamented with thirteen pillars, coloured 
green and white, with ten branches springing from 
them, representing the ten states which have adopted 
the constitution, decorated with an oak branch and 



16 

green riband; a keg carried under the left arm^ 
slung with a broad green ribanc*/, with a bow of the 
same, green and white on their right shoulder, round 
their right arms a green and white riband with a 
bo iv ; each boy carrying a w/hite oak branch in his 
rig;ht hand, and wearing wh*/te leather aprons. Head- 
efi by Mr. Peter Stoutenburgh, carrying a small flag, 
rnih the Coopers' coat of arms. Motto, " Love as 
brethren." 

Forty-two apprentices, dressed clean, with a green 
oak branch in their hats, and carrying a branch in 
their right hand. 

The stage, drawn by four bay horses, dressed with 
ribands, and decorated with green oak bows. On 
the stage was erected a standard, with a flag ten feet 
square, representing trade and commerce : a federal 
cooperage ; Coopers at different kinds of work ; the 
Coopers' coat of arms. Motto, " Love as brethren." 
Workmen at work on the stage, Mr. John Post, mas- 
ter. On the stage, a cask that had been put up dur- 
ing the session of the convention at Philadelphia, and 
which wanted repair ; but notwithstanding one of 
the best workmen belonging to the branch was in- 
dustriously employed great part of the time of the 
procession, it Avas found impracticable : this branch, 
considering this emblematical of the old confedera- 
tion, determined to make a new cask, representing the 
new constitution, which was done accordingly, while 
the procession was marching. 

Next the stage was one hundred and tiiirty-cight 
masters and journeymen coopers, their hats decorated 
with green oak boughs, carryuig an oak branch in 



17 

iheir right hand, the rear brought up by Mr. Daniel 
Dunscomb, carrying a small flag, the same as in front. 
The order conducted by two masters, wearing green 
and white cockades, and each carrying a green hoop- 
pole, with the leaves left on the upper end. 

Butchers. 

Headed by Mr. Jotham Post, Alexander Fink, Jo- 
seph Lovel, and Jacob J. Arden ; a flag of fine linen, 
neatly painted, displayed ; on the standard, the coat 
of arms, viz. three bullock's heads, two axes cross 
ways, a boar's head, and two garbs, supported by an 
ox and a lamb ; motto, 

" Skin me well, dress me neat, 

*' And send me 'board the federal fleet." 

A slaughter-house, with cattle drest, and killing ; 
a market, supported by ten pillars, one pillar partly 
up ; under it was written, " Federal market support- 
ed by ten," in gold letters. Federal Butchers ; a 
ship, with smaller vessels. The standard carried on 
a stage drawn by four bright bay horses, dressed with 
ribands ; a boy dressed in white rode and conducted 
each. On the stage, a stall, neatly finished; two 
butchers and two boys on the stage at work, splitting 
the lambs, &c. followed by one hundrgd of the branch, 
drest with clean white aprons, and steels on ; a band 
of music ; tw o banners, with the proper coat of arms ; 
motto, " Federal Butchers ;" one in the front, sup- 
ported by Mr. William Wright ; one in the rear, sup- 
ported by Mr. John Perin. A capital bullock, of a 
thousand weight in his quarters, roasted whol§ by 




18 

the Butchers for the honour of the day, was present- 
ed to the procession in general. 

Tanners mid Curriers, 

Arms on th e flag : Azure, a flesher, . and a curry- 
ing-knife ; or, crest, a bull's head, horned ; or, sup- 
porters, on the dexter side, a Tanner in his frock 
and trowsers, holding in his dexter hand a Tanner's 
skimmer, proper ; on the sinister, a Currier in his 
working dress, apron turned up, holding in his sinis- 
ter hand a cunying-knife, proper ; a sun rising from 
beneath the union flag. Motto, " By union we rise 
to splendour." Behind all, an oak tree. 

SkinnerSj Breeches Makers^ and Glovers, 

Headed by Messrs. Alsop Hunt, Benjamin Gatfield, 
James Mathers, Leonard Rogers, and James Hays ; 
a flag of cream coloured silk, borne by James Mott 
and John Peal, supported by Henry Frederic and 
Jacob Grindlemeyer ; coat of arms, a pair of breech- 
es and three gloves, supported by two rampant bucks ; 
crest, a buck's head ; a green field, with a ewe and 
two lambs, one lying down, the other standing. Motto, 
" Americans, encourage your own manufactures ;" 
followed by thirty-one of the trade, in buckskin waist- 
coats, faced with blue silk, breeches, gloves, and 
stockings, with a buck's tail in their hats. To these, 
Mr. W. Thompson, the parchment manufacturer, at- 
tached himself, with a standard of parchment, and 
the inscription, " American manufactured." 



w 



THIRD DIVISION. 

Cordwainers, 

Headed by Mr. James M'Creadj, who supported 
a small flag representing the arms of the craft : mot- 
to, " Federal Cordwainers ;" followed by twelve 
masters, representing twelve states. * 

A stage, drawn by four white horses, with two po- 
stilions in livery ; a shop on the stage, with ten men 
diligently prosecuting their business, emblematical 
of the ten states that have adopted the constitution, 
%^ith colours extended over the whole length of the 
shop, representing, in front, his Excellency General 
Washington coming out of the state house at Phila- 
delphia, and presenting the constitution to Fame ; she 
receiving it standing in her Temple, and ready to 
proclaim it to an astonished world ! On the reverse, 
a full view of our own harbour, with the amval of a 
ship with Crispin, who is joyfully received by St. 
Tammany. 

Then followed the main body, three hundred and 
forty men, Mr. Anthony Bolton in the rear, with a 
email flag, as in front. 

FOURTH DIVISION. 

Carpenters. 

Four masters, with each a rule in his hand ; \ ice 
President, with a blue riband at his breast, with a 
scale and dividers, and a drawing square in his hand : 
secretary and treasurer, with a green sash and archi- 



20 

tect book in their hands ; the apprentices in sections, 
each bearing a white wand of five feet long in his 
hand ; the standard borne by eight journeymen with 
red sashes ; representing, under the standard of the Uni- 
ted States, a portraiture of General Washington ; mot- 
to, " Freedom's favourite Son." Two Corinthian pillars, 
supporting a pediment half finished, expressive of 
the yet unsettled state of the union ; under this, thir- 
'teen pillars gilt, united by one entablature, with a 
purple riband : ten of them bearing the names of the 
atates in the order of their adopting the new consti- 
tution. A motto on the frieze, " The love of our 
country prevails ;" in the pediment, a shield ; mottof , 
" Honour God." 

The journeymen in sections ; the masters in sec- 
tions ; the President with a blue riband at his breast, 
with scale and dividers, and a star or union on his 
left breast, and a drawn square in his hand. Four 
masters, with two feet rules in their hands, two hun- 
dred and two rank and file. 

Furriers. 

Messrs, Lot Merkel, and John Siemon, carrying a 
white valuable fox-skin, manufactured ; followed by 
an Indian, properly accoutred, with the dress and ha- 
biliments of his nation, as just coming out of the 
woods, loaded with various kinds of raw^ furs, as i( 
bringing them for sale ; followed by journeymen, each 
of them carrying furs and manufactures, the produce 
of this country. Likewis.e, a horse, with two beai's, 



each sitting on a pack of furs, led by an Indian in a 
beaver blanket and round hat with black feathers, fol- 
lowed hj two journeymen funiers in their working 
habits, with master aprons, their coats trimmed with 
black martins, their hats decorated with black feathers 
and white cockades. 

A red flag;, on which a tyger, as large as life, was 
displayed, and above it a large muff of real ermine, 
as an emblem of the craft ; followed by two journey- 
men in like habits as the first. In the rear of these, 
came Mr. Lyon Jonas, dressed in a superb scarlet 
blanket, and an elegant cap, ornamented with a beau- 
tiful plumage, smoking the Indian pipe and toma- 
hawk. 

Hatters. 

Preceded by ten men in their working dresses, orna- 
mented with blue sashes, and carrying bows, decora- 
ted with blue ribands. The flag, displaying the em- 
blems of the branch, on a blue field, supported by two 
masters. Journeymen and apprentices, followed by 
masters, being sixty in number, with blue cockades 
and blue aprons, headed by Mr. Walter Bicker. 

Perukemakers and Hairdressers^ 

To the number of forty-five. Standard and flag. 
The arms, a wig in quarters, and three razors on the 
top of the arms. The amicable society of peruke - 
makers. Motto, " May we succeed in our trade, and 
the union protect us." 

Two small flags on a barber's pole, ten links in 
each, emblematical of the ten adopting states. 



22- 



Artificial Florists. 

Rear of the fourth division brought up by the Arti- 
ficial Florists, carrying a white flag, ornamented on the 
edges with artificial flowers, with thirteen blue stars, 
three of which drooping, representing the three states 
that had not adopted the constitution, supported bj 
two boys in white, with blue sashes, and their heads 
set ofi" with feathers. Motto, " Floreati America.^^ 

FIFTH DIVISION. 

Whitesmiths^ 

Carrrjdng an elegant pedestal of open scroll-work, 
supporting the arms of the trade, Vulcan's arm and 
hand-hammer. Motto, in gold, 

" By hammer and hand, 
« All arts do stand." 

Below, the name of the trade, embellished with gold 
ornaments in swags of laurel ; a highly polished 
finished lock was herein likewise exhibited, with a 
key at entrance. Over the same a bell rung continu- 
ally during the procession, and at the top a finished 
jack, kept likewise in motion by the wind ; followed by 
the masters singly, then two wardens, masters, jour- 
neymen, and apprentices, all with bkie cockades. 

Cutlers. 

Two master cutlers, wearing breastplates, and drill- 
bo^vs in their hands, and green silk aprons, embellish- 
ed with the company's arms, richly painted, bound 
with red riband. 



23. 

Four journeymen ^vith green baize aprons, bound 
with red riband, and the company's arms. 

Four apprentices, with green baize aprons, bound 
with red riband. 

Confectioners. 

Bacchus's cup, made of sugar, richly ornamented, 
four feet six inches in circumference ; round the gob- 
let's edge the inscription, " The Federal Confection- 
ers," the letters of different colours ; sugar-plumbs in 
the cup ; the federal cake, ornamented with preserved 
fruit, made and carried by Mr. Pryor. 

Stone Masons. 

Flag ; on the front an elegant plan of tiie President's 
(of Congress) house ; at a distance was displayed a 
remote* view of the temple of fame, supported with 
thirteen pillars, ten finished, and three unfinished; 
over the temple these words inscribed : 

" The foundation is firm, the materials are good, 
*♦ Each pilJar cemented with patriot's blood." 

Over the centre of the flag a spread eagle ; below the 
temple, a gentleman, and a stone mason showing him 
a draught of the temple; between ihe president's 
house and the temple, a grove of trees, and an elegant 
walk. 

On the reverse, an elegant figure of the master ma- 
son ; over his head was displayed the American flag, 
with the mason's coat of arms ; at a distance a mason's 
shop in a shade of trees, a man at work in it; at a lit- 
tle distance, two men cutting stone ; near thebottom 



24 

of the flag a man sawing marble, with a number of 
blocks and tools of all kinds lying round. 

The order, consisting of thirty-two, headed by Mr. 
George Lindsay and William M^Kinney. 

Bricklayers^ 

Preceded by Mr. John M^Comb, one hundred and 
two in nvuTiber, supporting a flag, representing, under 
the colours of the United States, a medallion of His 
Excellency General Washington, encircled with laurel: 
in the centre, the bricklayers arms. Motto, " In God is 
all our trust." Over the arms, a riband, written, " The 
Amicable Society of Bricklayers," all in gold letters ; 
on the lower part of the flag, a building with scaffold- 
ing, and men at work, attended with labourers. The 
whole painted on white silk. 

Painters and Glaziers^ Flag. 

A view of a street with a number of buildings, one 
nearly painted, and a man in the attitude of painting, 
on a ladder, the front of a house ; a ship, and a man 
painting the stern ; a pillar with ten stripes circular ; 
above the pillar the union flag, standing on the plat- 
form, supported by ten pillars, three pillars lying down 
underneath; in the two upper corners, two men in 
each, at difl*erent work, painting and glazing ; in the 
centre of the two, the arms of the painters and gla- 
ziers. Arms, or, three shields gule ; on the first a ham- 
mer, proper*, in the second a diamond; in the third a 
lederkin ; on the two upper shields a rule ; in the 
centre of the field a paint pot and brush; crest, a 
glass cap ; supporters, on the dexter side, a man hold- 



2& 

ing a pillar and pencil ; on the sinister, a man holding 
a sash frame. Motto, '' May we Succeed." Over 
the two poles that supported the banner, a scroll, sur- 
mounted with a star; this motto, ''May Trade Flou- 
rish and Industry be Rew arded." 
Cabinet-makers, 

Headed by Messrs. Carmer, Rucker, and Anderson. 
Robert Carter bearing the arms of the profession, 
followed by thirty apprentices, four abreast; twenty 
journeymen in the same order. 

Stage draw^n by horses, on which, duringthe march, 
a cradle and table were completed; on the stage, 
colours fixed, representing a furniture w^arehouse, 
where the different species of their craft were dis- 
played. Motto, " Unity with Fortitude." Sixteen 
master w orkmen, four and four, closed the order. 

Windsor aiul Rush Chair-makers, 

Headed by Messrs. Thomas and William Ash, of 
the Windsor, and Jacob Smith and Mr. Dow, of 
the Rish chair manufactory, follow^ed by sixty men, 
with green and red cockades in their hats, emble- 
matical of their business ; the standard, borne by 
two men, representing a large manufactory shop, with 
a number of workmen at w^ork; m front of the shop, 
a view of the river, several vessels bound to different 
parts, taking in chairs ; boys carrying them to the 
whai-ves; in one corner, the American union; in 
the other, the chair-maker's arms ; a turning lathe, 
and two Windsor chairs properly emblazoned. Motto, 
"• Free Trade." 

4 



26 

" The Federal states in union bound ; 

" O'er all the world our chairs are found." 

hory Turner'^s and Musical Instrument Makers^ 

Headed by Mr. Ahasuerus Turk, and other masters 
of the above business, two and two. They bore a 
beautiful standard ; in the upper part was the figure of 
Apollo, (the god of music,) sitting in the clouds, play- 
ing on a lyre ; round his head were brilliant rays of 
gold. In a festoon, from Apollo to the corners, and 
down the sides, hung the different instruments of 
music, in the manner of trophies. Underneath 
Apollo was America, standing hand in hand with Eu- 
rope, Asia, and Africa, emblematical of love and 
friendship with all the world. 

" Divine Apollo strikes his sacred lyre, 
" Our breath he fills with true federal fire; 
" All nature smiles on this auspicious day, 
" W^hen love and friendship joins the new sera." 

Motto, " Federal Musical Instrument Makers." 
Drum-makers. 

A flag ; drum-makers arms ; two drums in the tw© 
corners; a sheaf of flax in the centre at top; a 
lamb underneath ; on the left of the arms, an oak 
tree ; on the right, a man leaning on the arms, repre- 
senting the drum-maker. Motto, " Federal Drum- 
makers." 

« Tho' peaceably inclin'd we are, 

" Let us prepare, lest there be war ; 

*" Our enemies may overcome, 

" Should we neglect the federal drum." 



m 



Upholsterers^ 

Accompanying the federal chair of state, a most 
elegant exhibition, each carrying a banner ornamented 
with fringe, painted to represent the different articles 
of their business. Ten of these were topped with 
brilHant stars, and three with stars obscured in differ- 
ent degrees. The federal chair was carried upon a 
handsome stage, covered with the richest carpet; 
over it stood a magnificent canopy, nineteen feet high, 
overlaid with blue satin, decorated with beautiful fes- 
toons, fringe, &:c. and various emblematical figures. 
On the right stood a comely lad, in the character of 
Liberty, suitably dressed, and bearing her staff and 
cap, with a roll of parchment, inscribed, " Federal 
Constitution, 1788." On the left, another, in the cha- 
racter of justice, carrying the sword and balance. On 
the back of the chair were seen two angels elevating 
a laurel wreath, with this motto, ^' The reward of vir- 
tue," and on its top stood the bird sacred to Minerva. 
On the highest part of this beautiful canopy stood the 
American eagle^ with expanded wings, supported by a 
globe representing the United States ; a variety of 
other emblematical circumstances might be noted, 
such as two watchful tygers, in a recumbent posture, 
intimating the necessary union of strength and pru- 
dence. On the front of the stage, a banner, represent- 
ing Fame in a flying posture, carrying the constitu- 
tion, was supported by one in the habit of a native 
American, but richly decorated with feathers, plumes, 
&c. The motto, " May the Federal Constitution br 
supported by Liberty and Justice." 



28 



Lace and Fringe-weavers^ 

Bearing orange colours, elevated on a gilt standard, 
ornamented bj their oAvn manufactory: the device, an 
angel holding out a scroll vs^ith the words, " Federal 
Constitution," and underneath, 

" O never let it perish in your hands, 

" But piously transmit it to your children." 

Paper Stainers, 

A flag displayed, representing a piece of paper of 
a verditure blue ground, printed with a figure of Gen- 
eral Washington, with the words " New- York Manu- 
facture," in blue letters, on a gold ground, borne by 
Mr. John Colles, attended by an apprentice in a coat 
and cap of paper laced with bordering, and others 
carrying decorated tools. In the centre of the flag an 
oval figure, including ten golden stars, for the ten ra- 
tifying states ; and on the exterior, three stars in sil- 
ver, representing the states that have not acceded to 
the constitution. On the borders of the flag, "Under 
this constitution we hope to flourish." 

Civil Engineers^ 

Carrying a design for erecting a dock for building 
and repairing men of war and other large vessels. 

SIXTH DIVISION. 

Shipwrights^ Flag, 

In front alarge oak tree, a ship in frame, with pieces 
of timber lying promiscuously. Noah's ark above, 



29 

with the motto, " The bulwark of a nation." On the 
extended corner, an eye. 

Blacksmiths and Nailors, 

A flag with two smiths' shops represented ; in one, 
a number of men forging an anchor; in the other, men 
shoeing a horse and making nails. Their coat of 
arms, three hammers crowned ; over which was seen 
an eagle ; under, the words, " The new constitution." 
Between the two shops, a large anchor. Motto, 

" Forge me strong, finish me neat, 
" I soon shall moor a federal fleet." 

A man with his arm extended, with a hammer in it, 
with this motto : 

" By hammer in hand 
" AH arts do stand." 

The number, one hundred and twenty, in order, head- 
ed by Mr. John M^Bain. During the march the black- 
smiths exerted themselves in the federal cause. They 
began and almost completed an anchor upon the 
stage, besides making a number of other articles, as 
hooks and thimbles, horse-shoes, nails, &c. 

Ship Joiners, 

A flag, with their arms ; in the field various instal- 
ments of the craft displayed, crested with a ship, and 
ornamented. Motto, 

"Our merchants may venture to ship without fear, 

'.' For pilots of skill shall the Hamilton steer. 

*'This Federal ship "will our commerce revive, 

" And merchants, and shipwrights, and joiners shall thrive : 



I so 

'* On the ocean of time she's about to set sail, 

" Fair Freedom her compass, and Concord thf; gale." 

Boat Builders. 

Headed by two masters. Barge rowed bj proper 
bargemen in proper dress. Flag, field, thirteen stars 
and stripes; a print of His Excellency General 
Washington, and under him a boat building, axe 
and addice across, and drawing knife and plane. 
Motto, 

" Accept, great chief, that share of honour's praise, 
" A grateful people to your merit pays ; 
" Verse is too mean your virtues to display, 
" And words toe weak our meaning to convey." 

The Block and Pump-makers 

Finished a pump, turned three dozen sheaves and 
pins, made thirteen blocks, sheaved and pinned com- 
plete, on the stage, during the procession. A flag, 
with thirteen different kinds of blocks painted in an 
oval form, a pump boring in the centre. Motto, 
" May our industry ever recommend us to employ- 
ment under the Federal Government." 

A ship off the stocks, with only her lower masts in. 
..Motto, 

" Block me well, my spars sheave neat, 
" And join me to our Federal fleet." 

Sail-makers. 

A stage drawn by four horses, on which was dis- 
played their Hag, representing the flag of the United 
States ; directly below, the ship New Constitution, 



81 

under full sail ; in the centre of the flag, Colonel Ha- 
milton, the new constitution in his right hand, and the 
confederation in his left ; Fame, with a trumpet, and 
laurels to crown him ; under, this motto : 

" Let steadiness our steps pursue, 

" May justice be our guide ; 
" The Federal plan we keep in view, 

"We fall if we divide." 

Below this, on the left, the inside of a sail-loft ; the 
master workmen cutting out sails, with men at work. 
On the right of this, a view of a river ; a ship at an- 
chor, representing Commerce ; a boat taking in sails 
to carry on board ; the outside of a sail-loft, at which 
men are reefing sails. During the procession was 
finished on the stage, a ship's fore-top- mast-stay-sail, 
a steering-sail cut out, on which was sewed about 
fifty-six yards, which was performed by four men in 
white shirts and trowsers, their sleeves tied up with 
blue riband. The remainder of the branch (thirty- 
seven in number) followed the stage, carrying in their 
hands yards and measure lines, &c. the boys dressed 
in canvass vests and trowsers, a blue sash tied round 
their waists, and a pine branch in their hats, with blue 
ribands ; in the branch ten stars, in honour of the ten 
states that have adopted the constitution. Headed by 
Mr. George Warner. 

Riggers. 

The whole number, forty-one, with blue ribands in 
their hats, two drummers and fifers, a flag with thir- 
teen stripes and thirteen stars, and a ship just from the 



m 

carpenters, with men heaving her foremast in with the 
windlass, and a rigging-loft on the wharf, with seven 
men at work, three of them serving a rope ; one with a 
bowl of punch, drinking success to the new constitu- 
tion. A cartman, with a cart load of rope at the loft 
door; Fame, with a trumpet, sounding " Federal Rig- 
gers ;" the motto, 

" Fit me well^ and rig me neat, 

" And join me to the Federal fleet." 

On the other side, a ship almost finished, with men at 
work aloft ; likewise, a rigging-loft, with men at work. 
A cartman taking out a gang of rigging from the loft : 
the motto, 

" Now I am rigg'd both neat and strong, 
" And joined to the federal throng." 

The standard borne by Mr. Richard Clark, 

SEVENTH DIVISION. 

Federal Ship Hamilton . 

A frigate of thirty-two guns, twenty-seven feet 
keel and ten feet beam, Avith galleries, and every 
thing complete and in proportion, both in hull and 
rigging ; manned with upwards of thirty seamen and 
marines, in their different uniforms ; commanded by 
Commodore Nicholson, and drawn by ten horses. 

At the hour appointed for the procession to move, 
thirteen guns were fired from the ship as a signal for 
marching. She then got under way, with her topsails 
:^-trip, and courses in the brails, proceeding in the 



ss 

centre of the procession. When abreast of Beaver- 
street, she made the proper signal for a pilot, by 
hoisting a jack at the fore -topmast-head, and firing a 
gun. The pilot boat appeared upon her weather 
quarter, the frigate threw her main-topsail to the 
mast ; the boat hailed, and asked the necessary ques- 
tions ; the pilot was received on board, and the boat 
dismissed. The frisrate then filled, and moved abreast 
of the fort, where the crew discovered the president 
and members of congress. She immediately brought 
to, and fired a salute of thirteen guns^ which was 
followed by three cheers, and politely answered by 
the gentlemen of congress. The procession then 
moved ; when the ship came opposite to Mr. Con- 
stable's, the crew discovered at the window Mrs. 
Edgar, who had generously honoured the ship with 
the present of a suit of silk colours ; immediately 
they manned ship and gave three cheers. When she 
arrived abreast of the Old -slip, she was saluted by 
thirteen guns from his Most Catholic Majesty's packet, 
then in the harbour, which was politely returned. She 
then made sail, and proceeded through Queen-street 
to the fields, when squalls came on, and the wind 
ahead, she beat to windward by short tacks, in which 
the pilot displayed his skill in navigation, heaving the 
lead, getting ready for stays, putting the helm alee, 
by bracing and counter bracing the yards, kc. In the 
fields, she had to descend several hills, in raising 
which she afforded a delightful prospect to the spec- 
tators, her topsails appearing first, and then her hull, 
in imitation of a ship at sea ; exhibiting an appear- 

5 



34 

ance beyond description splendid and majestic. 
When she arrived at her station abreast of the dining 
tables, she clued up her topsails, and came to, in close 
order with the rest of the procession, the officers going 
ashore to dine. x\t four o'clock she gave the signal 
for marching, by a discharge of thirteen guns, Avhen 
the procession moved by the lower road. The man- 
ner in which the ship made her passage through the 
narrow part of the road was highly interesting and 
satisfactory, being obhged to run under her foretop- 
sail, in a squall, and keep in the line of procession ; 
this was accomplished with great hazard, by the good 
conduct of the commander, and the assiduity of the 
seamen and pilot; she arrived at her moorings abreast 
of the Bowling-Green at half past five; amidst the 
acclamations of thousands ; and the different orders 
in procession, as soon as they were dismissed, honour- 
ed her with three cheers, as a mark of approbation 
for the good conduct of the commodore and his 
crew. 

Pilot- Boat J 

Eighteen feet in length, and four feet in breadth, 
commanded by Mr. Edward Wilkinson, with four 
lads; embellished with two Hags, representing the 
light-house, Highlands, Staten-lsland, and the sea ; 
ships going in and out, the pilot boats attending them ; 
drawn on a wagon by two horses. . 

Pilots. 
Marine Society. * 

President with a gold anchor at his left breast, sus^ 



S5 

peiided by a blue riband, and two vice-presidents, 
treasurer, secretary, and attorney. Standard bearer, 
\vith a white silk flag, representing a ship cast on 
shore ; a dead body floating near her ; a woman and 
children in great distress, lamenting the sad catas- 
trophe, are consoled by Hope, leaning w ith one hand 
on a large anchor, and pointing with the other to 
charity, who holds a chart, inscribed, " New- York 
Marine Society ;" in the upper part, handsomely or- 
namented, is WTitten, " Marine Society, state of New - 
York;" in the low^er, in gold letters, the society's 
motto, " To Charity add Knowledge." 

Former officers — Standing Committees^ 

Society, and strangers; master^ of vessels, four 
abreast. 

Printers^ Bookbinders^ and Stationers^ 

Preceded by Messrs. Hugh Gaine, and Samuel 
Loudon, on horseback. 

The standard alternately supported by Messrs. 
Bryce, Carroll, Harrison, and Purdy. 

A handsome stage, drawn by four horses. Upon 
the stage, the federal printing-press complete ; cases, 
and other typographical implements, with press-men 
and compositors at work. During the procession, 
many hundred copies of a song and an ode, adapted 
to the occasion, w^ere struck off, and distributed, by 
Messrs. A. M'Lean and J. Russel, among the mul- 
titude. 

A small flag on the top of the press, on which was 



36 

inscribed the word " Publius," in gold letters. Mr. 
John Loudon, representing a herald, mounted on the 
back of the press, dressed in a flowing robe, and a 
cap, on which were written the words, " The Liberty 
of the Press ;" with a brazen trumpet in the right 
hand, proclaiming, " The epocha of Liberty and Jus- 
tice," pending from the mouth of the trumpet. In 
the left hand, a parchment scroll, representing the 
new constitution. The master Printers, Booksellers,^ 
and Bookbinders, with their journeymen and appren- 
tices, four abreast, following the stage. 

Description of the Standard. 

Fame, blowing her trumpet, and supporting the 
medallion of his excellency Doctor Franklin; Liber- 
ty attending, holding her cap over his head; the 
electric fluid darting from below ; on the upper cor- 
ner, the union flag, and Stationers' arms ; and below,, 
the bible and federal constitution, representing the 
religious and civil constitution of our country. Mottos, 

1st. " Ars artium omnium conservatrix.^^ 

2d. " May the liberty of the Press be inviolably 
preserved, as the palladium of the constitution, and 
the centinei of freedom." 

And surrounding the medallion of his excellency 
Doctor Franklin, the following words : " Wliere liber- 
ty dwells, there is my country." 

EIGHTH DIVISION. 

Cartmcn. 

A cart painted red with the words, " Federal cart," 
in white letters ; ornamented with green boughs, and 



37 

(IraAvn by an elegant bright bay horse, neatly capari- 
soned, and "Union" inscribed under each ear ; driven 
by Mr. Edward Fowler, dressed in a white frock and 
overalls, with a blue sash and white bow. On the 
cart was erected a standard, with a broad flag: one 
side representing Murray's wharf, Stewart and Jones's 
store, and three vessels discharging and taking in car- 
goes ; carts passing and repassing ; the harbour ; a 
view of Long-Island ; the rising sun; a vessel under 
sail, named the " Federal Ship Hamilton ;" a coat 
of arms ; motto, " By this we live," in yellow letters- 
On the reverse, Jones's wharf and storehouses, with a 
view of the river, Long-Island, horses and carts, the 
rising sun, and federal ship; over which, on both 
sides, were thes^ lines : 

" Behold the Federal Ship of fame, 
" The Hamilton we call her name ; 
" To every craft she gives employ, 
" Sure cartmen have their share of joy." 

Followed by three hundred cartmen, each wearing a 
laurel in his hat, and conducted by Messrs. T. Amer-- 
man, A. Mattiny, J. Demeroy, and W. Furman. 

Horse Doctor. 

Walter Gibbons, horse-doctor, dressed in an ele-- 
gant half shirt, with a painted horse on his breast, a 
balling iron in the horse's mouth, and the Doctor put- 
ting a ball of physic down his throat, with implements 
of farriery ready for use. Over the horse w^ritten, 
" Federal Horse Doctor." At the bottom, " Physic." 
On his back a horse skelejton, the doctor examining 



So 
u 

the head; over his head, " Federal HorDe Doctorj'^ at 
bottoirij " Dissection." 

Mathematical Instrwnent Makers, 

In an oval compartmentj encircled Yvith ten stars, a 
Hadley's quadrant, telescope, azimuth compass, and 
time -glass, with suitable decorations. Motto, " Trade 
and Navigation;" supported by Mr. Thomas Biggs. 

Carvers and Engravers, 

The Carvers and Engravers (united) were led by 
Messrs. Richard Davis and Peter Maverick ; the ban- 
ner supported by R. B. Davis. On the banner, which 
was of silk, bordered wdth an elegant fringe, of jVme- 
rican manufacture, were displayed the arms of the 
United States, viz. a chief, azure on thirteen pieces, 
argent and gules. In the centre was placed an es- 
cutcheon, parted, proper, pale. Argent, a chevron, or, 
between two gravers in chief, proper, a copper-plate 
on a sand bag in base, proper, for Engravers. Ar- 
gent, a mallet and gouge, proper, for Carvers. Motto, 
" Arte et Lahore.'^'' This banner was suspended by 
the two upper ends to a gilt staff, which w^as crowned 
by a circle, two feet diameter, of thirteen stars, ten of 
which were gilt, three ungilt. In the centre the Ame- 
rican eagle soaring. On a carved riband, between 
the banner and the stars, this motto, " Nous hrillerone 
ious Men tot.^^ 

Coach and Coach- Harness-Makers. 

A stage in front, drawn by ten black horses, three 



postilions dressed in yellow, and jockey caps trimmed 
yellow. Four workmen on'the stage at work in the 
different branches. The flag extended on the stage, 
representing a coach-maker's shop, with doors open ; 
hands at work ; a coach finished. At the door, a ves- 
sel lying at the wharf, taking on board carriages for ex- 
portation. Over the shop, the union flag ; over the ship 
the nine federal members from this county. In the cen- 
tre, the coach and coach-harness-makers' arms, on a 
blue field, three open coaches, supported by Liberty 
on one side, holding in her left hand the cap of liberty, 
on the other side by Peace, holding in her right hand 
a cornucopia of plenty ; Fame, blowing her trumpet 
over their heads ; motto, " The Federal star shall 
guide our car." A genteel green monument, sup- 
ported by ten pillars, with an union in the centre. 
Crest on the top of the arms, an eagle soaring from a 
globe. 

Coppersmiths^ 

Headed by Messrs. Asher Myers and Charles White. 
A standard, emblematical of the branch. Motto, 
*' May the labour of the industrious be crowned with 
success." 

Founders'^ Colour, 

Furnace, sand-trough, two pillars, an urn, cannon, 
two moulds. Motto, "May the Founders, through 
principles of Amity, agree in Unity." 

Tin-plate 'icorkers. 
Headed by Messrs. Kempton, Hardenbrook, and 



40 

other masters, followed hj their journeymen and ap- 
prentices, with white cocSades, emblematical of their 
business ; their standard borne by two of their profes- 
sion, exhibiting a square ; on one side, the Federal 
Tin Manufactory; on the other, the Federal Tin 
Warehouse ; in the square are raised ten pillars, with 
lamps to each, lighted, emblematical of the ten states 
that have adopted the constitution. On each of the 
ten pillars is a different article of tin manufactory ; in 
front is a view of the river ; the federal man of war 
appears, and shows the poop lantern ; at a great dis- 
tance appears a light-house, and a ship in the ofTmg. 
The ship of war shows the federal flag of ten stripes. 
On the manufactory are inscribed the words " Federal 
Constitution," and 

"When three more pillars rise, 

" Our union will the world surprise." 

Peivterers, 

Bearing an orange-coloured silk flag, on which was 
elegantly painted the United States' colours ; under- 
neath which, the pewterers' arms, supported by two 
miners, holding burning lamps in their hands. Motto, 
" Solid and pure," in gold letters ; on the front part of 
the flag, the words, " Society of Pewterers," with the 
representation of a Pewterer's workshop, in which the 
different branches were at work, and some of their 
work finished. Above this were the following lines. 
vi:5. 

" The federal plan, most solid and secure, 
'^ Americans their freedom will ensure : 



41 

^' AH arts shall flourish in Columbia's l^d, 
*' And all her sons join as one social band." 

Gold and Silversmiths, 

A gold Federal Eagle on the top of the standard. 
The goldsmith's emblematical arms on white silk, em- 
blazoned, the crest representing justice, sitting on a 
helmet, holding in one hand the balance, in the other 
the touchstone ; the arms supported by two savages, 
the field quarterly, or, two eagles' heads cross'd, azure, 
two cups inverted between two gold buckles ; the 
motto, " Justice is the Queen of Virtues." The sup- 
porters resting on a globe, representing the United 
States. Standard supported by the four senior gold- 
smiths, followed by twenty-five. 

Potters. 

A flag, on which was represented specimens of 
stone and earthen-ware. A stone-ware kiln in full 
flame, with different parts of both branches. A stage 
drawn by two horses, three hands at work, turning a 
number of vessels of diff*erent forms. Motto on the 
flag, " The Potter hath power over the clay." 

The Chocolate-makers^ Device. 

The old Constitution represented by the naked body 
of a man, denoting Congress, without power, with 
thirteen heads, looking diff*erent ways, showing the 
clashing interest of the states in union, with these 
lines : 

" When each head thus directing, 
'' The body naught pursues j 

6 



42 

" But when in one united, 
*' Then energy ensues." 

The ten men, well dressed, representing the ten 
states, supporting the head of a man, representing the 
new constitution united in a federal head. Across the 
loins of the naked man, in a circle, a scroll from the 
right hand to the left, pointing with the fore finger to 
a rising sun, and the federal head, with these lines 
in it : 

" In all creation my like is not, 

" Adopt the new, and let me be forgot. 
" Behold how beams yon bright and rising sun, 

" O happy era ! tyranny is fled ; 
" Since federal government is now begun, 

" United in one presidential head." 

On the pedestal on which it stands are these words, 
" The Old Constitution." Beneath, a hand-choco- 
late-mill, with two men grinding chocolate. On the 
opposite side of the flag, thirteen stripes, representing 
that no alteration can dissolve the federal compact 
entered into by the first congress, when they declared 
independence. 

Tobacconists^ 

Headed by Mr. Dennis M^Ready, displaying a 
white silk flag, on which was elegantly painted, gilt, 
(encompassed by thirteen tobacco plants,) their arms, 
on a superb shield. Motto, " Let brotherly love con- 
tinue.'' Their flag was preceded by thirteen boys, 
dressed in white, with blue ribands each carrying a 
hand of tobacco with eleven leaves bound close to- 



4S 

gether ; then followed the masters and journey men. 
to the number of forty-five. 

Dyers, 

Headed by John Morrison and Robert Dodds. 
Journeymen, apprentices ; arms, three madder bags. 
Motto, " Give gloiy to God." 

Brushmakers, 

Headed by Messrs. Cooper and Watson, carrying a 
white flag, decorated with ribands, representing the 
brushmakers' arms. Motto, 

" May love and unity support our trade, 

" And keep out those who would our rights invade." 

Joined by journeymen and apprentices, each wearing 
their aprons, and canying, upright, a large brush, 
called a Turk's head, on staffs twelve feet long. 

Tallow- Chandlers, 

A flag with thirteen stripes ; under these the figure 
of General Washington, with these words over him, 
" The illustrious Washington, may he be the first pre- 
sident of the United States." At the opposite end 
was placed the figure of Col. Hamilton. Between 
the two, the coat of arms of the branch, over which 
were placed thirteen candles, with the name of the 
state each represents ; those representing the ratifying 
states were all burning, and united in one common 
flame. At the top of the flag, New-York and North- 
Carolina were lighted, but not joining the rest. 



K 



44 

Saddlers^ Harness^ and IVhip-makers, 

SaddlerSj to the number of twentj-four. Mr. J. 
Young, Mr. Henry Broadwell, and Mr. J. Amory, the 
principal whipmaker. 

Then followed their emblematical figure of their 
profession ; an elegant horse, decked with a bun hun- 
ter saddle, and rich scarlet furniture, with broad gold 
lace round the whole, and ornamented with embroi- 
dered tassels, making a very brilliant appearance. 
The bridle was grand, and displayed much taste in 
the ornaments. The horse was led by a groom, 
dressed in character, carrying an elegant whip, and 
attended by two black boys as ostlers. The other 
masters and journeymen following in the rear. 

NINTH DIVISION. 

The gentlemen of the bar in their robes, two and 
two, preceded by the sheriff and coroner. In the 
centre of their body, the constitution of the United 
States, elegantly engrossed on vellum, and decorated 
with ribands, emblematical of the union, was borne 
by John Lawrence, Esq. counsellor at law, sup- 
ported by John Cozine and Robert Troup, Esqrs. 
counsellors at law. Ten students at law followed, 
singly, bearing in order the ratifications of the consti- 
tution by the several states as they came into the 
union. The rest two and two. 

The Philological Society, 

The secretary, bearing a scroll, containing the prin- 
ciples of a federal language. 



.,,« 



45 

Vice-president and librarian ; the latter carrying 
Mr. Home Tooke's Treatise on Language, as a mark 
of respect for the book, which contains a new disco- 
very, and as a mark of respect for the author, whose 
zeal for the American cause during the late war sub- 
jected him to a prosecution. 

Josiah Ogden Hoffman, Esq. the president of the 
society, wath a sash of white and blue ribands. The 
standard bearer, Mr. William Dunlap, with the arms 
of the society, viz. Argent, three tongues gules, in 
chief, emblematical of language ; the improvement 
of which is the object of the institution. Chevron, or, 
indicating firmness and support, an eye, emblematical 
of discernment, over a pyramid, or rude monument, 
sculptured with Gothic, Hebrew, and Greek letters. 
The Gothic on the light side, indicating the obvious 
origin of the American language from the Gothic. 
The Hebrew and Greek upon the reverse, or shade 
of the monument, expressing the remoteness and ob- 
scmity of the connexion between those languages and 
the modern. The crest, a cluster of cohering magnets, 
attracted by a key in the centre, emblematical of 
union among the members of the society in acquiring 
language, the key of knowledge, and clinging to their 
native tongue in preference to a foreign one. The 
shield, ornamented with a branch of the oak, from 
which is collected the gall used in making ink, and a 
sprig of flax, from which paper is made ; supported 
on the dexter side by Cadmus, in a robe of Tyrian 
purple, bearing in his right hand leaves of the Rish, 
or flag papyrus^ marked with Phoenician characters. 



46 

representing the introduction of letters into Greece^ 
and the origin of writing. On the sinister side, by 
Hermes, or Taaut, the inventor of letters, and god of 
eloquence, grasping his caduceus, or wand. Motto, 
" Concedat Laurea Lirigue^^^ expressive of the supe- 
riority of civil over military honours. The flag, em- 
bellished with the Genius of America, crowned with 
a wreath of thirteen purple plumes, ten of them starred, 
representing the ten states which have ratified the 
constitution. Her right hand pointing to the Philo- 
logical Society, and in her left a standard, with a pen- 
dant, inscribed with the word " Constitution." The 
members of the society in order, clothed in black. 

University, 

A flag, emblematical of science, motto, " Science 
and Liberty mutually support and adorn each other." 
Supported by a standard bearer, preceding two large 
globes. The President and professors, in their aca- 
demical habits, followed by the students, bearing dif- 
ferent kinds of mathematical and astronomical instru- 
ments : after these moved the medical students, and 
the instructors of schools. 

Merchants and . Traders, 

The merchants and traders were preceded by John 
Broome, Esq. president of the chamber of commerce, 
and William MaxweJl, Esq. vice-president of the bank, 
in a chariot, together with William Laight, Esq. sec- 
retary to the chamber, on horseback, bearing a stan- 
dard with an oval field, surrounded by thirteen stars. 



47 • 

The field, a Merciiiy standing on the shore, holding 
in his hand the arms of the city, suiTounded by the 
emblems of commerce ; motto, " Non nobis nati so- 
lum^^'^ not born for ourselves alone. The spear termi- 
nating in an American eagle, gilt, bearing on his 
breast the arms of the United States. 

TENTH DIVISION. 

Physicians, Strangers, and Gentlemen. 

Porters, 

A blue flag, with thirteen stripes, on one of which 
was inscribed, "September 17th, 1787." Thirteen 
stars on the field, on a standard supported by two 
porters, with the w^ords " ten to three, we carry it." 
Under the stripes, " stands, we stand — falls, we fall," 

Artillery and Field Piece. 

The line of procession, containing nearly five thou- 
sand people, extended upwards of a mile and a half. 
The march was slow and majestic, and the general 
appearance of the scene as far surpassed every one's 
expectation, as mere description must fall short of it. 
While numberless crowds were pressing on every 
side, the doors and windows of houses were thronged 
by the fair daughters of Columbia, whose animated 
smiles and satisfaction contributed not a little to com- 
plete the general joy. As this splendid, novel, and 
interesting exhibition moved along, an unsuspected 
silence reigned throughout the city, which gave a 
solemnity to the whole transaction suited to the sin- 



•48 

gular importance of its cause. No noise was heard 
but the deep rumbling of carriage wheels, with the 
necessary salutes and signals. A glad serenity en- 
livened every countenance, while the joyous expecta- 
tionof national prosperity triumphed in every bosom. 
The whole body having arrived at Bayard's house, 
were disposed in a line, and reviewed ; after which, 
the varied insignia of the procession being left upon 
the fields, the citizens were conducted to their seve- 
ral dining tables. Here they were honoured by the 
company of congress, of many foreigners of distinc- 
tion, and the patriotic and respectable clergy of the 
city. 

The two principal sides of the building provided 
for this entertainment, consisted of three large pavi- 
lions, connected by a colonnade of about one hundred 
and fifty feet front, and forming two sides of an ob- 
tuse angle ; the middle pavilion majestically rising 
above the whole, terminated with a dome, on the top 
of which was a figure of Fame with her trumpet, 
proclaiming a new era, and holding in her left hand 
the standard of the United States, and a roll of parch- 
ment, on which was inscribed, in large characters, the 
three remarkable epochs of the late war ; indepen- 
dence, alliance with France, peace. At her side was 
the American eagle, with wings extended, resting on 
a crown of laurel, placed on the top of the pedestal. 
Over six of the principal pillars of this colonnade 
were placed small escutcheons, inscribed with the 
cyphers of the several powers in alliance with the 
United States, viz. France, Spain, Sweden, Pnissia, 



49 

Holland, INIorocco; and over these were displayed 
the colours of these respective nations, which added 
greatly to the brilHancy of the entablature, already 
beautifully decorated with festoons and branches of 
laurel. The extremities of this angle were joined by a 
table forming part of a circle, and from this ten more 
colonnades were extended, each four hundred and 
forty feet in length, as the rays of a circle, the whole 
having one common centre, viz. the centre of the 
middle pavillion, where sat the president of congress. 
At the extremity of each colonnade was a pavilion 
nearly similar to the three before mentioned, having 
their outside terminated in a pediment crowned with 
escutcheons, on which was inscribed the names of the 
ten states which had then ratified the constitution. 
The whole of the colonnades were adorned mth cur- 
tains elegantly folded, and with wreaths and festoons 
of laurel every where dispersed. 

In the area contained within the angle first des- 
cribed, was placed the music, but so disposed as not 
to intercept the prospect from the seat of the presi- 
dent, through the whole length of the ten colonnades 
above mentioned. This noble and beautiful edifice, 
erected in less than five days, covered a surface of 
ground of eight hundred and eighty-feet by six hun- 
dred, and was calculated to accommodate six thou- 
sand persons. 

The taste and genius of Major L'Enfant, so often 
displayed on other public occasions, and to whom the 
city is indebted for the design and execution, appear- 
ed in the present instance to have derived additional 

7 



50 

brilliancy from the dignity of the object on which it 
Was employed. 

Dinner being ended, the following toasts were 
drank : 

1st. The United States. 

2d. The states which have ratified the new consti- 
tution. 

; 3d. The convention of the state of New- York ; 
may they soon add an eleventh pillar to the federal 
edifice. 

4th. General Washington. 

5th. His Most Christian Majesty. 

6th. His CathoHc Majesty. 

7th. The States General of the United Nether- 
lands. 

8. The friendly powers in Europe. 

9. The patriotic framers of the present national 
constitution. 

10. The memory of those heroes who have fallen 
in defence of American liberty. 

11. Success to agriculture, manufactures, and the 
sciences. 

12. May trade and navigation flourish. 

13. The day ; may the union of the states be per- 
petual. 

After each of which, ten cannon were fired ; and in 
order to diffuse the joy to all classes of citizens, an 
ample proportion of the entertainment was detached 
to the prisoners in jail. 

The repast ended, the procession returned in the 
$ame manner to its place of setting out; and the ci- 
tizens were dismissed by half past five o'clock. 



51 

In tlie transactions of this day, a variety of circum- 
stances might be noted, upon which the reflections of 
the patriot, the politician, or the philosopher, might 
dwell with pleasure. A procession inexpressibly 
magnificent, formed not to gratify the pride or ambi- 
tion of an individual, but to manifest to the world the 
attiichment of a people to a government calculated 
to secure and perpetuate their civil and religious 
liberties ; the mutual confidence and joy of the va- 
rious orders of the community ; all narrow and bigot- 
ted distinctions lost, and absorbed in that noblest of 
passions, the love of country ; the glorious hope, 
the emulous and patriotic zeal ; the dignified and un- 
sulUed harmony of the day ; and, it may be added, 
the uninstructed ingenuity of the American mechanic, 
unfolding itself in the invention of his emblems and 
motto. 

But what most excited surprise in persons unac- 
quainted with the character of iVmerican yeomanry, 
was to see a numberless multitude, in view of a tempt- 
ing collation, not only adhering to every rule of deco- 
i*um, unawedby a single bayonet or espontoon ; but, 
though under the influence of public passions, verg- 
ing to enthusiam, peaceably, at an early hour, retiring 
without a single instance of rudeness or impertinence. 

To conclude this account of a transaction which 
will long be remembered, and which reflects infinite 
honour upon the mild genius of our government, 
and the inhabitants of this city. Instead of the tro- 
phies of w ar, and of captives in chains, which graced 
the triumphs of antiquity, we here behold the plough. 



52 

the ship, and all the implements of useful arts. The 
wreath of martial glory was exchanged for the gar- 
land of peace ; and instead of the painful sensations, 
which in a humane and liberal mind would be ex- 
cited by the triumphal entry of a conqueror, reeking 
from the blood and slaughter of thousands of his fel- 
low men, the hearts of all the spectators anticipated 
with rapture the return of concord, of pubhc and 
private justice, of individual happiness, and national 
glory, the constant attendants of a wise, free, and effi- 
cient system of government. 

By order of the committee of arrangements, 

RICHARD PLATT, Chairman. 



53 



THE 
VICISSITUDES OF FORTUNE. 

Those who have lived some considerable time 
in the world, must have remarked the strange vicissi- 
tudes of fortune. Persons of the greatest intrinsic me- 
rit, and highest accomplishments, sink at once from 
ease and affluence to penury and sorrow ; and others 
rising as suddenly from the very dregs of the people, 
to splendour, rank, and honours. The changes often 
attend one and the same person, so that no one can 
have any certainty of continuing long in the present 
state. Yet such is the force of innocence and virtue, 
that those who possess them will find comfort in the 
greatest abasement ; whilst those who are destitute of 
those consolations, will not enjoy the most flattering 
gifts of fortune with ease and content. The truth of 
these remarks will be evinced by the following true 
history : 

At the age of fifteen, Lydia Morton lost a dear and 
tender mother, who had instilled into her only sun i- 
ving child, the principles of virtue and honour, found- 
ing them on the firmest basis, rational piety. Her af- 
fectionate father, who had spared neither pains nor 
expense to procure for his darling Lydia every accom- 
plishment befitting a female, when he lost his wife, 
transferred the whole sum of his love and regard to 
his daughter, and seemed to redouble his care and 



^4 

affection. As he was but forty years old when he be- 
came a widower, it was thought by many that he 
would console himself for the death of one wife by 
the arms of another. To this he was strongly urged 
by many of his friends: but no, said he, clasping his 
Lydia in his arms, this is the only wife I will ever 
embrace; she is my child, my friend, and my wife. 
No, my darling ! no stepm^other shall ever frown on 
the child of my dear dead Maria ; thy tender father 
will supply her place, and add the mother's attention 
to his own. 

Lydia, although she felt her loss most severely, 
yet received great comfort from those endearing ex- 
pressions of her surviving parent : they mutually 
strove to diminish each other's sorrow, and so far suc- 
ceeded, that in the space of six months, though they 
never ceased from a tender remembrance of Mrs. Mor- 
ton, yet resignation to the will of heaven produced a 
calm that bordered on happiness. 

One whole year had the father and daughter lived, 
comforts to each other ; for one whole year the hours 
and days had passed in tranquillity, and Lydia thought 
her happiness secure, when ^he was destined to feel 
the common lot of human nature, a reverse of fortune, 
and aggravated sorrow. 

Mr. Morton was the younger brother of a noble fa- 
mily, and having received, at his father's death, a 
younger brother's portion, had employed it in com- 
merce. His integrity had procured him many friends, 
and his industry had beer, so crowned with success, 
that be had lodged six thousand pounds in the funds 



O^J' 



lor his clear liytlia. This sum, with what he hoped 
to accumulate by commerce, (in the exercise of which 
he still continued,) and mi2;ht leave her at his death, 
he thoug:ht would enable him to expect, at her mar- 
riage, a settlement that might secure an independence 
during her life. As she had now passed her sixteenth 
year, and was both beautiful and accomplished, he , 
seriously thought of a proper husband for her. Seve- 
ral he had recommended, but resolved never to let 
her give her hand without her heart accompanied it 
Though she sincerely esteemed some of them, there 
was not one but w^hat was indifferent to her in the light 
of a husband. She had not yet seen any man that had 
touched her heart, and she felt not the least inclina- 
tion to alter a condition in which she Avas happy. 

Mr. Morton had a brother. Sir Robert Morton, who 
possessed the family estate and title, and was two 
years older than Lydia's father. He had led a life of 
pleasure, that had prevented him from thinking of 
marriage ; and, indeed, having constantly consorted 
with the worst part of the female sex, he had contract- 
ed such a bad opinion of the whole, that he would- 
never venture on a wife. His excesses and debauch- 
eries had brought on a premature old age, and ren- 
dered him so emaciated and debilitated, that he was 
advised to go over to Lisbon, to try if the salutary air 
of that city would restore that health which he had 
wantonly destroyed. It might have had that good ef- 
fect if Sir Robert had not, on the shghtest cessation 
of illness, plunged again into intemperance. The 
stamina of life were totally destroyed, and after two 



Ob 

years residence in Lisbon, his physicians plainly told 
him to settle his affairs, for he had not a month to live. 
Although for some years Sir Robert had been smooth- 
ing the path for the approach of death, yet when he 
found it so near he was greatly shocked. He wrote 
in haste to his brother, told him the fatal news, and 
requested him to come to him with the utmost speed, 

Mr, Morton, as next heir, thought it highly neces- 
sary to obey the summons. As the pursuits of the 
two brothers had been very different, they had had 
little intercourse but by letters for above ten years : 
yet they retained a brotherly affection for each other ; 
Mr. Morton had frequently remonstrated to Sir Robert 
on his course of life, but his representations had no 
effect ; absorbed in pleasure, the baronet regarded his 
brother as an honest, wellmeaning fellow, w^ho was 
destitute of spirit, and whose notions of life had been 
contracted by trade. 

Hasty as the summons was, Mr. Morton could not 
obey it without making some arrangements. In re-' 
spect to his business, that was quickly settled ; it was 
left in the hands of Mr. Spencer, a gentleman of 
about sixty, whose abilities and integrity had been 
proved by sixteen years residence in the house, and 
whom Mr. Morton had lately taken into the firm. But 
in regard to Lydia, the arrangement was not so easy. 
As Mr. Morton intended to be absent no longer than 
whilst he could settle every thing after Sir Robert's 
death, he did not choose to take her with him, more 
especially as it was then the dead of winter, and he 
feared the voyage would be tempestuous ; nor did he 



57 

wish to leave her in his own house, as she would there 
have no companion of her own sex ; there being no 
female in the house except servants. He therefore 
resolved to place her with his late wife's sister, a 
woman of about fifty, who had been some years the 
widow of a Mr. Tyrrel, a gentleman of six hundred 
a year, which she held as a guardian to her son, then 
a young lad in the college. 

Mrs. Tyrrel had alw ays expressed the greatest af- 
fection for her niece ; and Mr. Morton, thinking he 
should give pleasure to both, committed Lydiato her 
care without the least reluctance. He made his will, 
which he left, sealed, in the hands of Mr. Spencer, 
and embarked the fourth day after he had received his 
brother's letter. 

It would be superfluous to say that the parting of a 
father and daughter, who had never before been se- 
parated, and tenderly loved each other, was affecting; 
Lydia melted into tears, and felt what she called, 
strange forebodings of evil. But Mr. Morton cheer- 
ed her with the assurance of constantly writing to 
her; and not being absent above six weeks or two 
months at the most. 

Mrs. Tyrrel's residence was at a pleasant villa, not 
above six miles from the capital. Thither Lydia 
went, and her aunt omitted nothing that might alle- 
viate her grief for her father's absence, or give her 
amusement. Letters came frequently from Lisbon, 
each mentioning a nearer approach to the death of 
Sir Robert ; and in about a month Mr. Morton wrote 
that his brother had paid the debt of nature, that he 

8 - 



68 

had succeeded to the title and paternal estate ; that 
Robert had bequeathed most of his ready money and 
moveables to Lydia ; and that he would set out on his 
return in about a week. He also wrote to Mr. Spen- 
cer, that when he came back he w^ould dispose of all 
his mercantile effects, give up his business, and oc- 
cupy himself for the rest of his days with the happi- 
ness of his child. 

Lydia felt the greatest pleasure at the receipt of 
those letters ; another came by the next packet ac- 
quainting her that he should depart from Lisbon the 
next day in the Endeavour, a stout merchant ship, so 
that they might expect him in a few days. JMrs, 
Tyrrel expressed the greatest satisfaction, and Lydia 
waited with the eagerest expectation for the happy 
hour that would bring her father, now Sir William 
Morton, to her arms. She waited indeed — day fol- 
lowed day — rweek succeeded week — but no Endea- 
vour arrived — no father appeared. Three months 
passed in constant and encreasing anxiety, yet no 
news of either. Doubts and suspense are, of all situ- 
ations, the most distressing. It is better to know the 
worst that can happen, than to be in uncertainty, 
dreading every thing, and yet not knowing what to 
dread ; poor Lydia was in this state, and was com- 
pletely wretched ; letters had been written to divers 
places, and to several people ; the wife of the captain, 
and the owners of the ship, were equally ignorant of ^ 
its fate, m 

Lydia was almost in despair; but not so Mrs. Tyr- 
rel ; she inwardly rejoiced ; she formed great cxpec- 



59 

tations, and had laid her plans accordingly. We often 
see the children of the same parents verj opposite to 
each other in tempers, abilities, desires, and inclina- 
tions; some adhere to virtue, and others are slaves to 
vice. It was so with the first two brothers that were 
in the world, and so it was with the two sisters, the 
late Mrs. Morton, and the present Mrs. Tyrrel. The 
first was beautiful in her form, mild, complaisant, 
generous, and truly virtuous. The second was very 
ordinary in her person, violent, malevolent, selfish, 
and capable of every action that could tend to her 
own pleasure, profit, or advantage ; yet so perfect a 
mistress of dissimulation, that she preserved a spe- 
cious outside, and veiled her vices and disposition 
with almost an impenetrable hypocrisy. Mr. Morton 
was so far deceived that he thought her as amiable, 
except in her form, as his dear wife. Lydia had 
eveiy reason hitherto to be foAd of her aunt, whose 
attentions were unremitting, who seemed to prevent 
every wish, and whose tenderness and affection ap- 
peared to increase in proportion as Lydia's doubts 
and anxiety augmented. 

It has already been observed that Mrs. Tyrrel had 
a son at college, a youth who engrossed all his mo- 
ther's love ; and in him she believed a second self, 
for he inherited every evil quality of his parents. 

From the first failure of letters from Sir William 
Morton; from the moment there could commence 
any doubts of his safety, Mrs. Tyrrel began to form 
her plan to turn the event to her own advaruage. She 
had sent for her son home from college, and ordered 



m 

him to be particularly assiduous to Miss Lydia. The 
youth obeyed his mother, and sought every opportu- 
nity of making himself agreeable to his cousin. Her 
beauty and accompHshments would have been suffi- 
cient incitements, but the knowledge that Mrs. Tyrret 
and her son had of the wealth that would descend to 
Lydia on her father's death, (which was greatly aug- 
mented by the estate of the late Sir Robert Morton,) 
was an additional spur to the united endeavours to 
make the whole centre with them. 

Young Tyrrel was turned of twenty years old, his 
person was not disagreeable, and he had not neglected 
his studies; but Lydia could respect him no more 
than as a near relation, and all his attention could pro- 
cure only civility from her, without the most distant 
appearance of any tender passion. How ever, he pro- 
ceeded with all the art and cunning he possessed, 
which were not inconsiderable. Though born to a 
fortune of six hundred a year, his avarice looked 
upon that income as quite inadequate to his wishes ; 
and he cared not what means, however base, would 
be employed to increase it. 

Five months had passed since Sir William Morton's 
departure from Lisbon, when the wife of the captain 
of the Endeavour enclosed to Lydia a letter from 
her husband. In that he set forth that the second 
day after leaving Lisbon, a violent storm had arisen, 
with the wind at north, that had driven the vessel on 
the coast of Morocco, and that the ship had been 
wrecked a little to the southward of Mogadore, and 
had gone to pieces almost immediately after she ha<l 



61 

struck; that he had been about twenty hours floating 
on the sea, on a hen coop, when he was fortunately 
taken up by an Enghsh ship bound to Guinea, which 
had been driven out of her course by the late storm, 
but had happily cleared the land ; that he had had 
no opportunity of sending home the disagreeable 
news, till the ship had got her cargo of slaves, and 
had arrived at Barbadoes, from whence he should re- 
turn in the next fleet. The captain added, that from 
the ship's going to pieces so suddenly, nothing could 
be saved ; and from the violence of the storm, and 
the darkness of the night, he had no doubt, but Sir 
William Morton and every soul on board had perished. 

This was fatal news to poor Lydia ; for a time she 
was inconsolable, and then sunk into a settled melan- 
choly ; whilst Mrs. Tyrrel and her son inwardly re- 
joiced at the almost completion of their wishes. Sir 
William being now dead, his daughter was the un- 
doubted heiress of his fortune, which included that of 
the late Sir Robert; for there were no males, even in 
the most distant line, that could pretend to dispute it 
with her. Mr. Spencer waited on Miss Morton with 
the will, that had been left sealed in his hands, and a 
day was appointed for opening it. It was foreseen 
that no specific mention could be made in it of the 
estate that had devolved to Sir William from the 
death of his brother ; but as there was reason to ex- 
pect that event, there was no doubt but some regard 
was paid to that circumstance. ^ 

Every one concluded Sir William had perished ; 
but, alas ! Mrs. Tyrrel well knew to the contrary. 



62 

though she did not choose to declare that knowledg^e. 
Her son, from the hour he came home, had been a 
daily attendant on the post-office in the city, to inter- 
cept any letters that might be directed to Lydia. 
Above three months before the letter from the captain 
arrived, young Tyrrel got possession of one from Sir 
William. It mentioned the storm and shipwreck, 
with an account that he had been driven on the 
strand by the waves, and though much bruised, crawl- 
ed out of the reach of the sea ; that when day arose 
he was seized by some Moors, who brought him to 
Mogadore, where he was kept a slave ; that a Jew, 
who served there as an interpreter, had promised to 
negociate his ransom, which had been settled at one 
thousand guineas to his master, and one hundred to 
the Jew. He therefore directed his daughter to order 
Mr. Spencer to send immediately, bills for twelve 
hundred pounds to a merchant at Cadiz, (who was 
to forward this letter,) from whom the Jew would re- 
ceive it. 

The misfortune of Sir William Morton, being thus 
known, might have been soon remedied ; but that 
would not suit Mrs. TyrrePs purpose. She thought 
that if no notice was taken of this letter, the Moor 
who held her brother-in-law in slavery would be en- 
raged at the disappointment of his expectations, and 
would therefore treat Sir William with more rigour. 
This, with the anxiety of mind he must feel from not 
hearing fiitm home, she concluded would soon destroy 
him ; and she waited with impatience for some au- 
thentic news that might relate the shipwreck, and 



€8 

confirm that he was dead, when the captain's letter 
arrived, which seemed to put that event past a doubt. 

But although she had passed three months in anx- 
ious expectations, she had not been idle. She knew 
if she could effect a marriage between her son and 
her neice, the whole of the family fortune would be- 
come their property. But the indifference with which 
Lydia beheld her cousin's assiduities, gave her no 
hopes of gaining that point, unless she could obtain 
some legal power over her. She knew her father had 
made a will ; she thought it highly probable that he 
had left his fortune to his daughter, but knew not un- 
der whose charge and guardianship the execution of 
the mil, and the custody of Lydia, was directed. It 
was absolutely necessaiy she should get that will into 
her possession : but it required the utmost stretch of 
cunning to obtain it. Mr. Spencer had too much ho- 
nour and integrity to countenance any fraud or decep- 
tion. She, therefore, would not hazard a trial that 
would, by its failure, risk not only her character, but 
the success of her whole scheme ; some other means 
were to be tried, and Mrs. Tyrrel's brain, fertile in 
expedients, was not long at a loss. 

From the day she had intercepted Sir William's 
letter, she began to appear greatly attached to Mr. 
Spencer. She had him frequently at her house, 
where he was a welcome guest to Miss Lydia, who 
greatly esteemed him, and the visit was as frequently 
returned. Mrs. Tyrrel sometimes went^ with her 
niece, and sometimes visited him alone. She cau- 
tiously observed in what part of his cabinet he placed 



64 

his most valuable and important papers, and did not 
doubt Sir William's will was one of them. She then 
appointed an evening, when she, her niece, and some 
other ladies, were to be accompanied to a concert by 
her son, Mr. Spencer, and a large party; and Mrs. 
Tyrrel seemed to have formed this design merely as 
an opportunity to amuse Lydia, under her anxiety 
about her father. 

The whole company dined with Mr. Spencer, when, 
at the moment they Avere to go to the concert, Mrs. 
Tyrr el pretended a sudden pain of the head, which 
rendered her utterly incapable of sharing in the enter- 
tainment, while she totally refused that the party 
should be put off on her account, or that any of it 
should stay with her. She said her disorder would 
probably go off in a short time ; that she would wait 
the return of the company at Mr. Spencer's, and 
would not go home till the next morning. Lydia 
requested to stay with her aunt, declaring that not 
going to the concert would be no disappointment to 
her, as she was not in a frame of mind to relish the 
amusement. Mrs. Tyrrel answered, that music was 
the best composer of the mind, and she would by no 
means deprive her of the opportunity : that she would 
try to compose herself in Mr. Spencer's easy chair, 
and if she found her head better she would amuse 
herself with reading, if he would trust her with the 
key of feis book-case. To this Mr. Spencer readily 
agreed, gaye her his bunch of keys, and ordered his 
servants not to disturb Mrs. Tyrrel till their return 
from the concert 



65 

Mrs. Tjrrel had not only gained the point of being 
left alone in the cabinet, but besides, the key of the 
bookcase was on a ring with several others ; and she 
doubted not but that which opened the bureau was 
one of them. As soon, therefore, as the company 
was gone, and she was alone, she bolted the door and 
began the trial. The identical key was there, and 
she actually found the wdll in one of the drawers, 
with the cover sealed with four seals, impressed with 
the family arms. She put the important paper into 
her pocket, not thinking it prudent to examine the 
contents there, but to stay till she got home, when 
she could contrive to substitute another in its place. 
To do this would require another opportunity, which 
must be hastened, and another possession of the key 
obtained, lest the will should be missed ; but she was 
soon released from any difficulty on the latter account, 
as, upon examination, she found one of the keys on 
her own bunch would completely answer her purpose. 

Till the company returned, she revolved in her 
mind the different steps she had to take to prevent 
any frustration of her design. The first was to pre- 
vent Mr. Spencer from missing the will before she 
had put another in its place. This she effected, on 
the return of the company, when she declared a little 
sleep had completely relieved her head ; but as she 
had given great trouble to him, she insisted that he 
should go with her the next day to her villa, which, 
as the public offices would be shut, (it being in the 
Easter holidays,) he could do without any prejudice 
to his business. To this Mr. Spencer consented, and 

9 



set out with Mrs. Tyrrel and Lydia the next morn* 
ing as soon as breakfast was over. 

On gettmg home, Mrs. Tyrrel knew she had no 
time to lose ; therefore, leaving Lydia to entertain Mr. 
Spencer, by walking in the demesne, whilst she was 
employed, as she said, on family affairs, she locked 
herself in her chamber with her son, and opened the 
will. It was written entirely bj Sir William, and wit- 
nessed by three of his clerks, as no person to whom 
any legacy is left can by law witness any testament. 
By this will she found her brother-in-law had left five 
hundred pounds to Mr. Spencer, and two hundred 
and fifty pounds to the Rev. Dr. Osborne, rector of 
the parish ; whom he had appointed joint executors 
of his will, and guardians to his daughter. He had 
bequeathed five hundred pounds to Mrs. Tyrrel and 
the same sum to her son ; and, after some other small 
legacies, he left the whole bulk of his remaining fortune 
to his daughter, to be paid her on the day of her mar- 
riage, or on the day of her attaining eighteen years 
complete, at which time she would be of full age. Then 
followed this clause : " And as it is highly probable 
that my elder brother. Sir Robert Morton, Bart, who 
is declared to be past recovery, may shortly depart 
this life, and as I am the undoubted heir to all his 
landed estate, with the houses and chattels thereon, 
in that case it is my will, that if I die before my said 
daughter, Lydia Morton, she shall heir and possess 
that estate, with those houses and chattels ; and if 
she should succeed to them before she shall have ar- 
rived at eiditeen years of aiic. the aforesaid oMiardians 



€7 

may make such marriage settlements as she and they 
may judge proper and necessary ; and on the contin- 
gency of my said daughter possessing the estate of 
my said brother, then I will that she shall pay double 
the legacies that I have bequeathed to my sister-in- 
law, Mary Tyrrel, and to my executors, William 
Spencer and the Rev. Amos Osborne, doctor in di- 
vinity." 

This will w-as not at all satisfactory to Mrs. Tyrrel. 
Though a proper remembrance was had of her and 
her son, yet two thousand pounds Avere little to her, 
whose wish was for all. She, therefore, resolved to 
have a will more fit for her purpose ; and here her son 
was of singular service. He had early employed 
himself in imitating the hand-writing of others, and, 
from frequent practice, had rendered himself able to 
counterfeit any hand. He, therefore, by his mother's 
direction, wrote a will, to which he joined his uncle's 
signature and those of the witnesses, and sealed it 
with the same seal which Mr. Morton had given to 
his daughter the day before his departure. The 
paper was of the same size with that of the real will, 
and being enclosed in a cover sealed with four seals, 
was ready to be substituted in place of the other, in 
Mr. Spencer's bureau, as soon as an opportunity of- 
fered. This opportunity she soon had, for on Mr. 
Spencer's return, she came to town with him, and 
going into the cabinet, requested that whilst he was 
out he would let her finish the reading of a book she 
had began a few evenings before. He opened his 
book case and gave it to her^ but decliued leaving 



68 

his key, saying she could take the book with her to 
her villa, that Lydia might read it also. He then 
went out on his business, and she, by means of her 
own key, put the will her son had counterfeited in 
the place of the other, and then went into the par- 
lour, where, with the highest satisfaction, she waited 
his return. 

Mrs. Tyrrel leaving now a will made to her own 
mind, which she had artfully deposited in the place 
of the real will, joyfully received the news of Sir Wil- 
liam's shipwreck and probable death. Mr. Spencer 
having no suspicion of the artifice that had been used, 
and firmly believing the will in his bureau was the 
identical deed left in his possession, went with it, on 
the confirmation of his friend's misfortune, and dis- 
charged his trust, by giving it into the hands of Miss 
Morton. On the next day it was opened in the pre- 
sence of the family, and several of her friends. It 
was found to leave the legacies of one thousand pounds 
each to Mrs. Tyrrel, her son, and Mr. Spencer, and 
five hundred pounds to the Rev. Dr. Osborne, and the 
whole remaining effects, real and personal, of Sir 
William Morton, to his daughter Lydia, to be paid to 
her on the day when she should attain eighteen years 
of age, or on the day of her marriage, with the appro- 
bation and consent of her aunt, Mary Tyrrel, whom 
he had appointed sole executor of his will, and sole 
guardian of his daughter. Every one acquiesced in 
the tenor of this will. No one had the least suspicion 
of its being a forgery ; the several legatees believed 



69 

in its reality, and acquiesced in bequests that were 
beneficial to themselves. 

Mrs. Tyrrel administered to the will in due form, 
and immediately entered upon the trust. She dis- 
posed of all Sir William's mercantile effects, giving 
them a good bargain to Mr. Spencer, who continued 
the business ; and having arranged every affair to her 
own satisfaction, she entered on the completion of her 
grand design, the marriage of her son wdth the rich 
heiress. Miss Morton, her niece and ward. 

Although young Tyrrel strove every hour to ingra- 
tiate himself with his fair cousin, she continued to be- 
hold him with the most perfect indifference. For some 
time the wished for union was not pressed, but after 
a few months Mrs. Tyrrel was very urgent with Lydia; 
she not only made the proposal in form, and said 
every thing which she thought might prevail on her 
niece, but at length she hinted very plainly, not only 
that she would never give her consent to her ward's 
marriage Avith any other person, but that if any such 
union should take place contrary to her approbation, 
Miss Lydia would thereby forfeit all claim to her for- 
tune. 

Miss Morton was naturally of a mild disposition. 
She had, from her birth, been treated with the great- 
est tenderness and indulgence, and this was the first 
time that any thing harsh had been said to her. She 
at first seemed shocked at this attempt to control her. 
She was sensible that her conduct hitherto could nei- 
ther merit rebuke, nor give any warrantable ground of 
diffidence in her future behaviour. She was some 



70 

minutes silent, when feeling herself much hurt, she re- 
pHed, with a greater degree of spirit than she had ever 
hitherto shown, that as for marrying Mr. Tyrrel,it was 
so foreign to her inclination, that it was what she would 
never do ; for though she respected him as a near re- 
lation, and should ever esteem him as afriend, she felt 
a strong repugnance in her mind to any nearer connex- 
ion. She had not the least desire to change her pre- 
sent condition, and, therefore, could not justly be sus- 
pected of any intention of marrying any other person. 
She appealed to her aunt whether she had shown the 
most distant partiality to any one gentleman, amongst 
her numerous acquaintance. Therefore, she could 
not be intimidated by any such engagement as Mrs. 
Tyrrel had hinted. However, she was resolved 
to keep herself single till she came of the age her fa- 
ther had thought sufficient for the management of her 
own affairs, (which would be only about a year and a 
half,) and then her aunt would be eased of any soli- 
citude on her account. 

An answer so spirited, and at the same time so very 
unexpected, staggered Mrs. Tyrrel. She hastily re- 
volved in her mind what reply she should make, and 
after a short consideration, told her, that she could 
have no end in what she said but for Lydia's good; 
that age and experience had rendered her capable of 
giving advice to youth and inexperience. That there 
was no relying on the changeable disposition of a girl 
not yet seventeen years old, and therefore it was her 
duty to prevent any impropriety of conduct that 
might not at present occupy her mind, but might yet 



71 

be suggested, ere she was aAvare. This she should do 
by employing the authority with which her brother-in- 
law had invested her, and remove her charge from a 
place where she was surrounded by a numerous ac- 
quaintance. She ended by directing Miss Morton to 
give her maid orders to pack up Vvhat apparel and 
other things sh^ might want, as she intended to go to 
England in three or four days. 

The manner in which this was uttered seertied so 
peremptory, that Miss Lydia, situated as she was, 
could not imagine that any evil would result from her 
removal ; and thought that a ready compliance might 
remove any suspicions that her aunt might have en- 
tertained. She therefore answered, that she was 
willing to go wherever Mrs. Tyrrel thought proper, 
and thereby show she had no kind of attachment 
here. She added, she would be ready by the time 
appointed ; and only wished she could take leave of 
the worthy Mr. Spencer, but that was a pleasure she 
could not expect, as he was then settling some impor- 
tant business in the north. 

Though this determination of going to England 
seemed to have been sudden, and taken upon the 
spur of the occasion, yet it was not so in reality. 
Mrs. TyiTel had for some time resolved on that mea- 
sure, in case she found that Lydia could not be pre- 
vailed on by persuasion to accept her son as a hus- 
band. She was not without her fears that Sir William 
might still be alive, and by one of those strange and 
unforeseen interventions of Providence, which she 
blindly deemed the effect of chance, might return home. 



72 

In that case, if she continued on the sppt, her arti- 
fices could not escape detection ; therefore, she re- 
solved to go to England, and fix her residence in some 
remote part, whence she could contrive to receive 
every intelligence she might desire, and where she 
need not be discovered but when she might think 
herself safe. The marriage of her son with Lydia 
would not only secure the fortune if Sir William 
should never return, but if even he should, might 
effect a reconciliation, as a thing that being done 
could not be prevented, and there could be no proof 
of her having counterfeited the will. But as, from 
Lydia's indiflV:;rence to young Tyrrel, there was Utile 
room to think persuasion alone would be effectual, 
she knew coercive means could be more successfully 
used in England than in a place where she was sur- 
rounded by very extensive acquaintance, and where 
the steady honour of Mr. Spencer would leave no 
means untried to protect the daughter of his friend 
from any oppression. 

Having settled her plan of operations, and arrang- 
ed her affairs, so as to be able to receive what money 
and intelligence she wanted, through the channel of 
an old artful attorney, who was entirely in her inte- 
rest ; she sailed for England, with her son and Miss 
Morton, but without any other attendant, as she said 
she would take no servant till she came to where she 
would settle. They landed at liverpool, and directly 
proceeded to a neat house, with a beautiful garden, in 
one of the wildest glens in Cumberland, several miles 
from a post town, with a very small circle of neigh- 



T3 

hours, and which had been purchased for her by a 
correspondent of Mr. Webb's, the old attorney, who 
had also a friend in London, who would receive and 
forward to the old lady whatever advices Mr. Webb 
might send; whilst their acquaintance in Ireland 
might thereby be led to believe she resided in the ca- 
pital, and not in an obscure country place, three hun- 
dred miles distant. 

The spot chosen for the residence of Mrs. Tyrrel 
was indeed very beautiful, but the situation was so 
obscure, that no person traveUing that road could ex- 
pect to find any thing so charming in such a spot. It 
was on the borders of Copeland forest, in a deep glen, 
between two high hills, on the edge of a large lake. 
It stood about six miles from the high road between 
Egremont and Whitehaven. As it was retired, it 
suited the purpose of Mrs. TyiTcl ; and as it was ro- 
mantically rural. Miss Morton was charmed with it ; 
the solitude soothed the melancholy that she had 
contracted on account of her father's death, and she 
dwelt there wdth an apathy that bordered upon 
content. 

Lydia's aunt, indeed, had not her mind in so tran- 
quil a state ; she eagerly sought to hasten the com- 
pletion of her wdshes, lest any sinister accident might 
prevent her designs. She laid closer siege every day 
to her niece, in her son's behalf, who on his part re- 
doubled his assiduities : but they had the mortifi- 
cation to find that Lydia's indifference for young 
Tyrrel augmented in proportion to their endeavours 
to lessen it ; and even approached to disgust, Dxs- 

10 



/4 

appointment soured more and more the temper of 
Mrs. Tyrrel^ a temper not naturally sweet ; and think- 
ing she was under no necessity of dissimulation, she 
gave a loose to her vexation, and treated Lydia with 
great harshness and ill humour. 

The poor young lady had no friend to whom she 
could make her complaint, or unbosom the griefs 
that were hourly augmenting. The whole company 
that used to come occasionally to their house, and to 
whom MjTS. Tyrrel returned visits, were three sisters 
who lived at Calder Abbey, about ten miles distant. 
These were ladies of small fortunes and disagreeable 
persons, who having passed their youth in London, 
without attracting the regard of any man, or having 
had, either of them, one suitor, had joined their for- 
tunes together, fled the metropolis in disgust, and 
having contracted a hatred for mankind, in return for 
the neglect they had shown, had buried their shame, 
disgrace, and ill nature, in the wilds of Cumberland. 

Such females wereiiot calcuted to sooth the sorrows 
of Miss Morton, or to be her confidants. She had 
written to some young ladies, the companions of her 
happier and more cheerful days, but her letters had 
been intercepted, and no answers received. She had 
also written to her much esteemed Mr. Spencer, but 
as she had used some expressions of dissatisfaction in 
her letter, Mrs. Tyrrel (who found means to read every 
letter she sent, as no person carried them to the post 
otSce at Egremont but Mr. Tyrrel,) had suppressed 
it. Thus cut off from every comfort, and every means 
of consolation, and daily exposed to the importunities 



of her aunt and cousin, Lydia experienced a life of 
continual uneasiness. 

The approach of winter robbed the place of her re- 
sidence of all its beauties, and rendered it wild, drear}^, 
and comfortless. Lydia was then deprived of the 
pleasures of the garden and her rural walks, and be- 
gan to lose her health as well as spirits. At length an 
idea struck her that she would endeavour to escape 
from her persecution, and ^^t to Whitehaven, from 
which she could easily procure a passage to Dublin, 
where she would put herseh^ under the protection of 
Mr. Spencer, till she came of age, (according to her 
father's will) of which a full year was wanting With 
this idea she pleased herself for some weeks, till an 
event happened that added effect to her resolves, and 
hastened the execution of them. 

One day, just after dinner, she retired with her 
book ; but had no sooner entered her chamber, than 
she found she had got the wrong volume, one that she 
had already read; she knew the book she wanted 
was in Mrs. Tyrrel's closet, in her bed room, and 
thither she went to fetch it. Not finding it readily, 
she was obliged to search for some minutes : she had 
just found it, and was about to leave the closet, when 
she heard her aunt come into the chamber with her 
son, and immediately lock the room door ; this con- 
strained her to keep close in the closet, and even turn 
the key while she was on the inside. 

" You was wrong, Charles," said Mrs. Tyrrel,as soon 
as they were seated, '' to begin a discourse on such a 
subject below in the parlour ; we might have been 



^ 76 

overheard by some of the servants, and Lydia might 
have come down suddenly ; but now she is reading 
up in her room, and we are to ourselves. I am as im- 
patient as you to have this business over." " You do 
not seem so madam," replied her son ; '' here are six 
months passed already in this cursed, melancholy 
hole, and I do not see we are the nearer to the point : 
the peevish girl seems to be more and more set 
against me ; and neither your scolding, pressing, or 
arguing, nor my smoothness, have any good effect. 
Depend upon it, we shall never succeed this way." 
" I believe not," said Mrs. Tyrrel, " she is too stubborn ; 
but if one means will not do, some others may ; I 
agre« we have lost too much time already ; we must 
make up for it, and not have all the trouble we have 
taken, you know how — thrown away. But I have al- 
ready planned a scheme that must succeed, and that 
shortly too ; you know, of late I have been particu- 
larly civil to Parson Mowbray, the curate of Ennor- 
dale, our parish ; the man is poor, with a large fa- 
mily, and I have lent him ten guineas on his note. 
Now, for ten more, and giving up that note, I am sure 
he will do any thing I desire." "Maybe so," answered 
the son, " but pray what can he do ; Lydia will not 
mind his persuasions any more than ours." " I do not 
suppose she will," returned Mrs. Tyrrel, " I do not 
stand in need of his persuasions, I only want him to 
marry you ; I can get him here any evening, and he 
Tvill do the job in a few minutes, that will make us 
all easy." 

^' But you forget, madam, that the laws of this Conn- 



ie 



.■«f; 



^r 



/ i 



uy are very severe against clandestine marriages : 
and Parson Mowbray will not risque transportation 
for the sake of twenty guineas." 

" I do not intend he shall run any risque. That mar- 
riage cannot be deemed clandestine that is celebrated 
with the consent, and in the presence of the guar- 
dian to one party, and the mother of the other ; and 
has moreover the sanction of public bans. I have 
resolved that Mowbray shall pubhsh the bans the 
next and the two succeeding Sundays — we have only 
to contrive to keep the girl and servants at home on 
those days, and she will know nothing of the matter: 
for I will take care she shall see nobody in the mean 
time who goes to the church. Then, on Sunday fort- 
night, I will bring tho parson home with me to dinner, 
and in the evening he shall many you both — and then 
fate do your worst." 

'' This is a most excellent scheme indeed, madam," 
iaid Charles Tyrrel, " but the worst of it is, after you 
have taken all those pains and precautions, I much 
fear you will not prevail on the perverse girl to con- 
sent, and say, I will^ and you know we cannot force 
her if she remains stubborn." 

" Why, you blockhead," replied his mother, '* if 
we cannot force her, can't we drop a little laudanum 
in her coffee that may make her insensible of what 
she does? And after you are married and bedded, 
when she recovers her senses next morning, she may 
rave and cry as much as she pleases ; she will be le- 
gally married, and cannot help herself. But come, 
now you know all is settled, come down to the par- 



78 ■ '^-K ..' 

lour, for I expect the Misses Hammond's to tea." 
instantly imlocked the door and went down. 

Miss Morton had not lost one word of the discourse ; 
she came softlj out of the closet, and hastened to her 
chamber, that she might ponder on what she had so 
opportunely overheard. 

She had now a convincing proof that her aunt 
would stick at nothing to gain her point ; th^t she was 
totally in her power, without one friend or acquaint- 
ance to advise or protect her : she could make no 
confidant of any servant in the house. She resolved 
then to rely on providence alone ; and, thinking it 
quite innocent to meet artifice with prudence, when 
she w^ent down to tea she assumed an air rather more 
sprightly than usual. She resolved on her speedy es- 
cape, and as she foresaw she would be pursued as soon 
as she was missed, she thought it requisite to turn their 
suspicions to a contrary road from that she intended 
to take. For that purpose, her whole discourse that 
evening run upon London, her eager desire to see 
that place, and a request to Mrs. Tyrrel that they 
might spend a few of the winter months there. " No, 
no, cousin," said Charles, " no London ; you may 
see several gay sparks there, whom you may prefer 
to me." " How do you know that," replied she, 
smiling, " may be not, and who knows, Charles, 
when I do see other gay sparks, but you may profit 
by the comparison ?" She said this with so arch an 
air, that the old lady and her son brightened up, and 
the evening was spent with much more good humour 
than usual. 



79 

Still, however, Lydia kept up the conversatiou 
about London, and minutely inquired the road to it, 
setting down in her pocket-book the several towns 
she must pass through, the rate of post chaises, and 
where they were to be had. 

When Lydia retired to her chamber, she seriously 
began to think of making her escape, and as she 
knew she should not go to church with her aunt the 
next Sunday, and that they were invited to dine with 
the Miss Hammonds, at Calder Abbey, she resolved 
that should be the day of her elopement. 

The wished for Sunday came, and Lydia saw her 
aunt and young Tyrrel depart for church in the car- 
riage. She had offered, with some earnestness, to ac- 
company them, but Mrs. Tyrrel, with much seeming 
affection, dissuaded her, saying, " as she had been 
much incommoded with the head ache for some days 
past, and the weather was cold," for it was a frosty 
day in the month of February, " she would not take 
her out, lest the journey should make her worse ;'- 
adding, " that after church they would go and dine 
at Calder Abbey, and return soon in the evening." 

They had no sooner set out than Miss Morton pre- 
pared for her escape. Of the three servants who 
were left in the house, she had given two of them 
leave to visit their friends in the neighbourhood, and 
only an old woman, the cook, remained at home. 
She had previously sewed about thirty guineas in the 
plaids of her petticoat, leaving three, and some silver, 
in her pocket, and having given directions for dinner, 
told the cook she would walk to see a poor sick 



% 



m 

woman who lived in Copeland Forest, about a mile 
distant. She put on one of her plainest gowns and 
her ordinary hat, and, quitting the house, recommend- 
ed herself to the care of Providence ; lamenting that 
the heiress of a plentiful fortune should be reduced to 
such an extremity. 

She had made herself thoroughly acquainted with 
the road to Whitehaven, and hoped to reach it before 
night ; but she had not considered that she must pass 
through Ennordale, where her aunt was at church; 
and that thereby she ran a risk of being seen. This 
circumstance, when it occurred to her mind, stag- 
gered her nuich. If she continued the high road she 
must pass by the church, and though her aunt and 
most of the neighbouring people might be in it, yet 
the carriage must be there in waiting ; and the coach- 
man might see her : besides, in country places there 
is often a number of stragglers and idle people loiter- 
ing in the village on a Sunday. If she left the high road 
for the Held paths, she was equally fearful of meeting 
people who might know her, and though none of them 
would stop or molest, yet they might innocently give 
information which way she had gone, and she might 
be overtaken by her persecutors. It was equally ha- 
zardous to stop at any cottage on the road till the mor- 
row. She knew she must be missed at night, and her 
flight might occasion a pursuit on every side. How- 
ever, the die was thrown, and she must abide by the 
cast. Gathering boldness from her fear, she tucked 
up her gown, pulled her hat over her face, tying it 
down with her hankerchief, and reached the village 



81 

just as the people were coming out of church ; she 
held down her head, mixed with the throng, and had 
the satisfaction to see at a distance her aunt's car- 
riage drive on the road to Calder Abbey ; she then 
set forward with redoubled haste, and about sunset 
saw a town before her, which she entered with great 
satisfaction ; but to her great mortification, found, in 
her perturbed state of mind at quitting the village, she 
had taken the WTongToad, and that she was come to 
the town of Egremont instead of Whitehaven. She 
was so confounded she knew not on what to resolve ; 
after the fatigue of the day, during which she had 
taken no kind of refreshment, it was impossible for 
her to walk to Whitehaven, a distance of nine miles ; 
for, though it was not more than five o'clock, it was 
dark, and she might stray still more. She pondered 
awhile, and then took the resolution of lodging in 
Egremont that night, and proceeding the next day 
by the earliest dawn to her desired port. She hoped 
that when she was missed, the pursuit would be 
rather towards London than elsewhere. She there- 
fore addressed a neat elderly woman she saw at the 
door of a clean small house, and asked if she could 
furnish her with a bed for that night, as she was a 
young woman going to her mother at Whitehaven, 
who was just come from Ireland to meet her, they 
being both of that country. The mistress of the house, 
who was also an Irish woman, received her with 
her national warmth, got her every refreshment, 
and made her heartily welcome, being only a little 
troublesome by her inquisitiveness, which Lydia an 

II 



82 ; 

svvered or evaded the best she could, and urging her 
weariness, retired to bed. 

She slept little, and when she arose in the morning, 
found herself rather fatigued than refreshed. How- 
ever, having amply rewarded her landlady, Lydia de- 
parted at daybreak, and pursued her journey. But 
she had not gone above three miles, when, from the 
anxiety of her mind, she found herself so sick and faint, 
that she could walk no farther, ^and she sat down on 
a bank by the road side.; her weakness increasing, she 
actually fainted, and lay for some time, when she was 
•roused, by feeling herself lifted up by somebody. 
She turned her eyes, and beheld an honest looking 
countryman, who was raising her from the ground, 
and before her stood a wagoner, with the road wagon 
that he had stopped. It was going from London 
to Whitehaven, loaded with goods for that town ; and 
the driver, having seen her lying on the bank, had 
humanely stopped, and called to a countryman who 
was in the wagon to come and assist him to get her 
into the vehicle. When she was a little recovered, 
she thanked them for their kindness, and as the car- 
riage was going to the place she wanted to be at, she 
agreed to give a crown for her passage there, think- 
ing at the same time that if she should be pursued, as 
she could never be suspected to be in a wagon, no 
Search therein would be made for her, and she should 
also be screened from the sight of any person on the 
road. The wagoner told her, that as for the crown 
she offered, to be sure that if she could spare it, he 
would have no objection, but she should be welcome 



83 

10 a place in it if she had not a forthing, and that as 
lie should bait his horses about a mile farther, at a 
very honest, though poor house on the road, she might 
refresh herself with tea, or wine if she pleased. Ljdia 
was placed in the wagon, and the slowness of its 
motion speedily recovered her, especially as her mind 
became more at ease. She got some tea at the road 
inn, and arrived safe at Whitehaven about four o'clock ; 
she put up at a lodging house, and waited with im- 
patience for the next evening, when a coal ship was 
to sail for Dublin. 

But leaving Lydia in safety, though still in fear, let 
us return to Mrs. Tyrrel's house, which was in some 
confusion when Miss Morton did not return to dinner. 
The old cook was greatly surprised not to see the 
young lady come home at the expected time. She 
sent a boy, that lived near, to the house of the sick 
woman, to which Lydia said she was going, but she 
had not been there. The man and maid, to w^hom 
she had given permission to visit their friends, return- 
ed at six o'clock, and at the desire of the old cook, 
inquired for Miss Morton at every house for three 
miles round, and were just returned from a fruitless 
search when Mrs. Tyrrel and her son came home 
from their visit to Calder Abbey, having had the 
bans of marriage published for the first time in En- 
nordale church. On receiving the news that Miss 
Morton had left the house at nine in the morning, 
and had not since been seen, their consternation was 
not to be described. As they were ignorant that she 
overheard their discourse, and thereby discovered 



84 

their scheme^ they could hardly think she had medi- 
tated an escape ; they knew she had little or no ac- 
quaintance in the vicinage to whom she could fly :. 
they were certain she had not gone to Calder Abbey, 
as they had not left it long. Mrs. Tyrrel examined 
Lydia's chamber, but no clothes, no linen, were miss- 
ing, and she little thought Miss Ii Norton would under- 
teike any journey totally unprovided with changes 
of apparel. At length Charles Tyrrel recollecting 
her particular inquiries of the road and manner of 
getting carriages to London, declared she must have 
gone thither. Yet how could she go without clothe? 
to a Dlace where she had never been, where she knew 
nobody, nor had any acquaintance to receive her. 
They were bewildered in conjectures. However, he 
resolved next morning to proceed on the London 
road, and endeavour to trace her by going to every 
inn where coaches and post chaises were to be pro- 
cured ; and, accordingly, early on Monday he mount 
ed his horse and set out. 

Mrs. Tyrrel, on the other hand, sent messengers on 
the roads to Cockermouth, Keswick, Egremont, and 
Whitehaven ; not that she had much reason to believe 
she had gone to either of these places, but merely to 
omit no possible means of recovering the fair fugi- 
tive, the regaining of whom was of so much import- 
ance to her. 

But at tliis juncture Mrs. TyrrePs son and messen- 
gers were not the only persons who were in search of 
Miss Morton. There were two others, who had taken 
different roads, and from diiferent motives. The one 



85 

ivas young Mr. Spencer, son of the worthy Mr. Spen- 
cer, the friend and late partner of Sir William Mor- 
ton, to whom Lydia was then flying for protection;^ 
and the other was Mr. Edward Webb, son of ola 
Webb, the attorney, and friend of Mrs. Tyrrel. 

Mr. Spencer had been much surprised at not receiv- 
ing any answers to several letters he had written to 
Miss Morton ; he had, indeed, once or twice heard from 
Mrs. Tyrrel that Lydia w^as well, but thought it 
strange that the young lady, who had always shown 
a great attachment to him, should refuse an answer. 
His son, George Spencer, had been three years at the 
university, and was just gone to study in the temple 
in London, as his father's choice and his own inclina- 
tion had led him to the bar. To him Mr. Spencer 
had written, directing him to wait on Mrs. Tyrrel at 
the place to which her letters were addressed. His 
surprise increased, and even gave ground to some 
suspicions, Avhen his son informed him that she had 
never been in London ; and the gentleman where he 
inquired had told him Mrs. Tyrrel and her family 
were in the north of England, and that he only re- 
ceived and forwarded letters to her, but refused to 
tell him where she was, as he was particularly re- 
quested not to mention the place of their residence. 
On the receipt of this puzzling intelligence, he appli- 
ed to old W^ebb, as he knew he received the jsents of 
the estate, transacted business for Mrs. TyiTel, and 
sent her remittances. The crafty attorney said truly, 
he could not tell where she was ; he got constant an- 
swers by sending his letters to the ssnae address that 



86 

Mr. Spencer did ; and if Mrs. Tyrrel was out of Lon- 
don, and chose to keep her residence a secret, it was 
jpone of his business, he never inquired after it. This 
pnswer added to Mr. Spencer's inquietude, and he 
directed his son to spare no pains or expense to fathom 
this mystery. Young Spencer accordingly got ac- 
quainted with a clerk to the merchant, through whom 
the correspondence between Mr. Webb and his cUent 
was carried on, and by dint of money learnt that his 
master had made a purchase in Mrs. Tyrrel's name of 
a small estate in Cumberland, and in a few days ac- 
tually showed him a letter he was carrying to the' post 
office, directed, Mrs. Tyrrel, at Copeland Lodge, Egre- 
mont, Cumberland. Mr. Spencer copied the direc- 
tion, and transmitted it to his father. 

Mr. Spencer replied to his son, that from a very un- 
expected occurrence having taken place, he desired 
he would immediately quit all business, or other con- 
cern, and proceed to Copeland Lodge; that he would 
not go to the house, but procure all the intelligence he 
could in the neighbourhood, without saying who he 
was ; and then go directly to Whitehaven, and wait 
his coming to meet him. 

Young Mr. Spencer, in obedience to his father's di- 
rections, and indeed in compliance with the feelings 
of his own heart, came down td Copeland Forest with 
the ut!iM)st expedition, and arrived on the evening of 
that very Sunday Lydia had made her escape. He 
entered a small road inn near to Mrs. Tyrrel's house, 
and began to make his inquiries. The host told him 
the family of the Tyrrel's resided at the lodge, and 



87 

Miss Morton had been very much indisposed for some 
time past ; he believed she might have been in love, 
for she was grown better, perhaps upon all things 
-being settled ; as he had heard at Ennordale church 
that morning, the bans of marriage published be- 
tween her and young squire Tyrrel. He added, he 
was somewhat surprised to hear this, for as they were 
rich enough to pay for license, why would they be 
asked in the church ? Whilst they were talking, se- 
veral of the peasantry came in to take their Sunday 
night's pot, and they w^ere all full of the inquiries that 
had been making through the neighbourhood after 
Miss Morton, who they said had been missing since 
nine in the morning ; that squire Tyrrel was going to 
set off at daybreak to-morrow to London to look for 
h^, and that several of the country people were to go 
to the neighbouring towns. The host asked some of 
the countrymen who had seen her in the morning how^ 
she was dressed, and when he was told, he exclaimed, 
" Pll be hanged then if it was not she I saw as I was 
coming out of church ; I thought I knew her, but as her 
hat was over her face I could not see it ; and as she 
took the Whitehaven road, whilst Mrs. TyrrePs coach 
struck off towards Calder Abbey, I thought I might 
be mistaken, but as sure as a gun it was she." 

Mr. Spencer listened attentively to this discourse ; 
he could not think the bans had been published with 
Miss Morton's consent ; for her quitting the lodge full/ 
proved she had no inclination for Mr. TjrreL He was 
convinced she was gone to Whitehaven, and as he 
could gain no farther inteUigence, he resolved to go 



88 

thither next day. Some of the peasants who came 
from town declared that they had not met her on the 
road, (which indeed they could not, as she had taken, 
hy mistake, the road from Ennordale to Egremont,) 
yet he doubted not but he should find her, as well as 
meet his father there. As it was then pretty late, and 
travelling might be difficult in the night, he resolved 
to take the earliest hour of the morning, when he 
mounted and rode off. 

The other person who was in search of Miss Mor- 
ton was the son of old Webb the attorney. He set 
out from DubHn, and had arrived the day before at 
Whitehaven ; and, as he well knew the residence of 
Mrs. Tyrrel, was not under the necessity of losing any 
time in inquiries, but was proceeding straight to Cope- 
land Lodge. The subject of his embassy was to en- 
deavour to gain Miss Morton's consent to marry him. 
Old Webb had learned from Mrs. Tyrrel that her son 
could make no impression on Miss Lydia's affections. 
Hence it came into his head, that if young Webb 
could pass a few days at Mrs. TyrrePs, he might slily 
fortify Miss in her disinclination for Charles Tyrrel, 
and insinuate himself into her good graces, in which 
case he might bring her over to Ireland and marry her» 
He had hopes of success, as young Webb was really of 
an agreeable person, and was a lieutenant in the 
army, of a tolerable bold address : and if he could 
prevail on the young lady, he troubled his head very 
little about the consent of the old one, as he was too 
deep in some of her schemes, to be in any fear of her. 
He knew the extent of Lydia's fortune, for the papers 



89^ . 

had gone through his hands, and thought it was worth 
some risque and trouble to make it centre in his family. 

The wind being favourable to come to Whiteha- 
ven, young Webb had landed on Sunday afternoon, 
and not being used to the sea, had been much affect- 
ed by a passage, that though neither long nor dan- 
gerous, was yet too rough for a young macaroni. He 
resolved to stay the next day to recover himself, be- 
fore he proceeded to Copeland Lodge, and had ac- 
tually taken up his temporary abode at the very house 
in which Lydia came to wait for the wind, which to 
her great mortification did not seem likely to become 
favourable. She, however, kept herself in her own 
chamber till she should be summoned to go on board. 

Young Mr. Spencer had rode very fast, fearful lest 
if Lydia was in Whitehaven, which he had little rea- 
son to doubt, she might embark on board some ship, 
^nd render it impossible to overtake her, as his father 
had ordered him to stay in Whitehaven till he joined 
him. This was a circumstance for which he could 
not account, but he knew his father too well to doubt 
his having substantial reasons for whatever he did ; 
and he was still more embarrassed to understand the 
expression in Mr. Spencer's last letter, that a very 
unexpected occurrence had taken place, but resolved 
fully to obey the injunctions, and wait his father's ar- 
rival, to clear up every point. 

The day was far advanced when the young gentle- 
man had got to town, but as soon as he got to the inn 
he was assured that no ship had sailed since Saturday, 
though one had arrived from Dublin. 

12 



90 

As soon as be arose on Tuesday morning, he went 
down to the quay, and inquired amongst the outward 
bound ships if any young lady had taken a passage^ 
and where she was to be called upon. He heard of 
several, but one in particular, who, by report, for he 
had not seen her, somewhat answered the description, 
and for whom a cabin in a coal ship, bound for Dublin, 
was taken by a Mrs. Stokes, with whom she lodged ; 
young Mr. Spencer was about to seek the house of 
Mrs. Stokes, when his attention was called towards a 
ship just coming up to the quay, on the deck of which 
he saw his father. The old gentleman was glad to 
see his son there, and on coming ashore applauded 
his dihgent obedience ; he then called for a friend he 
had on btsard, and they all went to the inn, when a 
full account was given of the flight of the young lady 
from Mrs. Tyrrel, the publication of the bans, and 
the supposition that she was then in the town, and 
lodging at a Mrs. Stokes's. 

Mr. Spencer heard his son's relation with great joy, 
but his friend who accompanied him was much agi- 
tated, though he scarce spoke. They all three went 
to the house of Mrs. Stokes, where they found a crowd 
before the door, and saw an officer forcing a young 
tvoman into ^ post chaise; he told the people that 
had gathered, that she was a young lady who had 
run away from her aunt, who was her guardian, and 
he was taking her back, which, if they had the least 
doubt of, they might accompany him to Mrs. Tyrrel. 
The mayor of the town, who happened to be passing 
by, on hearing the matter, said he knew Mrs. Tyrrel 



very well, that she was a woman of condition, and 
therefore he would keep the young lady at his house 
till he sent to Copeland Lodge to inquire the truth. 
This did not suit the intentions of young Webb, who, 
having discovered Miss Morton in the house, had got 
a post chaise, not to carry her to Mrs. Tyrrel, but to 
some other place where he could urge his suit ; and 
her refusing to go with him, had caused this dispute. 

While Mr. Webb and the mayor were contesting, 
Mr. Spencer, his son, and friend, came up. He im- 
mediately knew Lydia, who ran to him, hung upon 
him, and begged his protection. He commanded the 
young officer, in a peremptory manner, to quit the 
young lady, and he would accompany her to the 
mayor's house ; Webb asked by what authority he 
interfered, as he was no relation, nor could contest 
against the authority of a guardian, who was his fa- 
ther's client. " Sir," said the muffled gentleman to 
(he mayor, " this young fellow contends for the au- 
thority of a guardian, but I have a prior and better 
authority, that of a parent. I am Sir William Mor- 
ton, that young lady's father, who has been thought 
dead, because left long in slavery by the cruel con- 
trivance of my sister, who, by forging, has assumed 
an authority over my child." The mayor, who had 
formerly had some dealings with Sir William, was 
overjoyed to find he was alive, and exerting his ma- 
gisterial power, took them all to his own house. 

Here Miss Morton, whose transports at finding her 
father living was extreme, as soon as she was a little 
recovered, related all she had undergone from Mr?. 



92 

Tyrrel, what black designs she had overheard, and 
how she had escaped with the intent of going to Mr. 
Spencer. 

Sir WiUiam then began his narration, and after 
relating his shipwreck, and hig hopes of ransom, as 
have been already related, proceeded : 

" I waited some months in anxious expectation of 
having the money remitted that was to purchase my 
deliverance, but none coming, and my treatment be- 
coming worse on that account, I abandoned myself 
to despair. The honest Jew assured me my letters 
could not have miscarried, as he had received an- 
swers to some that went by the same conveyance. 
I then suspected some treachery had been used, but 
was bewildered in my thoughts on whom I could ^x 
it ; I had known Mr. Spencer too long and* too well 
to doubt his sending the money if he had received 
my letter ; 1 knew my daughter's affection, and could 
have no diffidence of my sister. I therefore con- 
cluded the ransom had been sent, but the persons to 
whom it had been delivered had basely converted it 
to their own use ; bat how could I trace the villany, 
and what remedy could I procure. Just at the time 
when I was sunk in despair, and hopeless of any relief, 
the Moor, who ,was my master, fitted out a corsair 
under the command of his son, and as there were no 
longer any hopes of my ransom, he put me, with sixty- 
five wretched slaves, on board, where we were all 
chained to the oars. 

" I now thought my misery would end only with 
my life, and anxiously waited for my death ; we had 



93 ^ 

entered Ihc Mediterranean, and had taken five prizes 
from the Spaniards, which were sent into Tangier, 
when one morning we were chased by a Maltese 
galley ; we tried to escape, but she gained upon us, 
and her force ^vas so great that all resistance was in 
vain, the Moorish corsair was taken and carried into 
Leghorn, where I was released, and being soon recog- 
nised bv an Ensclish merchant there, with whom I 
had dealt when in business ; on hearing my melan- 
choly tale, h'^ furnished me with every necessary, and 
gave me the means of returning home ; I had a good 
passage, and landed in Dublin about a month since. 
'' On my arrival I hastened to Mr. Spencer, who 
was really overjoyed to see me, as it were, risen from 
the dead ; he assured me that he had never received 
any letter froff; me, and showed the letters from the 
captain's wife^ which announced our shipwreck, and 
tlie certainty that I had perished. He told me, that 
Mrs. Tyrrel, having administered to the will I had left 
In his hands, had taken my daughter to England, but 
lie had not had any answer to several letters he had 
written to her, and but seldom heard from my sister. 
At the mentioning Mrs. TyrrePs adininistering to my 
wilL I was thunderstruck ; I told liim the will I had 
left with him gave her no authority. We soon per- 
ceived that some fraud had been used, and advising 
with an able lawyer, he procured me a sight of the 
original will which she had proved, and then the 
whole villany became manifest. The counsellor 
advised me to keep my being alive a secret till we 
had feund my daughter; Mr. Spencer WTote for that 



94 

purpose to his son^ who has so zealously and success- 
fully obeyed his instructions. When we got the ad- 
dress of Mrs. Tyrrel, we desired the young gentleman 
to go to her residence, and when he had got all the 
intelligence he could, to meet us here, as I was re- 
solved to come here in search of my child if he could 
not succeed. 

In the mean while, young Webb, who began to 
think how he should make the best of a bad bargain, 
was no sooner left to himself, than he took post 
and went to Copeland lodge. Mrs. Tyrrel was much 
surprised at seeing him, but still more so when he 
related what had passed at Whitehaven. The news 
that Sir W^illiam Morton had arrived, had got posses- 
sion of his daughter, and was wdthin a few miles of 
her, struck her with the utmost terror ; the whole ex- 
tent of her guilt flashed in her face, and the prospect 
before her was terrible and gloomy. She, tkcreforCj 
hastily packed up what was most valuable, and set 
off that very morning 'for London, expecting to meet 
her son on the road, which she did ; Avhen they ar- 
rived in town, she raised what money she could, and 
immediatelv embarked Avith her son for America : 
but it has been since confirmed that the ship foun- 
dered on its passage, and they both perished. 

Sir Wilham, his daughter, the Spencer's, and the 
mayor, arrived at Copeland Lodge the next day, but 
the birds were flown. He took possession of 'what- 
ever he found in the lodge, and in searching a bureau^ 
he found the identical will he had made and left with 
Mr^ Spencer, which was a farther confirmation of the 



^5 

villany. Having disposed of all the effects there, the 
family returned to Dublin, where Sir William's pub- 
lic appearance reinstated him in his lands and pos- 
sessions ; and, soon after, perceiving that Lydia be- 
held young Mr. Spencer with a favourable eye, and 
being charmed with his manners and conduct, he 
joined their hands. Some months after, when au- 
thentic advice was received of the death of Mrs, 
Tyrrel and her son, he in his turn administered to her, 
and gained possession of her estate, which he imme- 
diately gave to hi? daughter and worthy son-in-law. 



THE GOOD UNCLE, 

Charles Marchmont was the youngest son of a 
gentleman in Warwickshire, and having been always 
a favourite with his mother's brother, (Mr. Invoice, a 
Turkey merchant,) his parents determined to make 
him a man of business ; and Charles was, at an early 
period, placed at an academy in this metropolis, 
where, after being instructed in the several branches 
of education preparatory to the compting house, he 
was removed to Mr. Invoice's, near the Royal Ex- 
change, where his assiduity, integrity, and modest 
deportment, considerably advanced him in the good 
graces of his uncle. 

After this young man had been two years employ- 
ed, with an uabiemisued chsuacter, in mercantile 






96 

transactions, he was requested by Torn Sprightly, a 
clerk to a merchant in the neighbourhood, to make 
one in a party of pleasure in the Whitsunweek at 
Greenwich. Charles communicated this invitation 
to Mr. Invoice, who endeavoured to dissuade him 
from going on the proposed excursion. 

However, if your heart is set upon the party, I 
will not refuse your request. I have given my opi- 
nion ; and if the legislature thought as I do, every 
holy-day in the calendar should be annihilated, since 
nothing can be more absurd than to set a season apart 
for the support of idleness and irreligion ; nor any 
thing more repugnant to wisdom or virtue, than to 
sanctify a time for prejudicing the fortunes, and 
corrupting the morals of the youth of both sexes. 
Charles was, for the first time, dissatisfied with his 
^incle's observations, though they did not fail to make 
an impression upon him : he reported them to his 
new acquaintance, (Sprightly) who rallied him ex- 
ceedingly upon his paying so much attention to the 
grave lecture he had received, and treated the opi- 
nion of Mr. Invoice as illiberal and absurd. 

Charles wanted but Httle persuasion to follow his 
inclination, which was to enjoy the holy-day at the vil- 
lage above mentioned ; but he had not courage to 
tell his uncle this truth ; and though he had hitherto 
been remarkable for his attachment to veracity, he 
now resolved to deceive the old gentleman, by join- 
ing the party, and keeping it a secret. 

The expected day arrived, and turned out one of 
those very fine ones which travellers would have 



97 

most agreeable at that season, it was clear, and yet so 
conveniently clouded as to check the heat of the sun, 
and make the exercise of walking, perfectly easy. 
Charles got up early in the morning, and telling the 
servants he was going upon business on board a ves- 
sel that had been consigned from the Streights to his 
uncle, directly proceeded to Sprightly, and with him 
and two of his companions, who were city bucks of 
the first head, turned their backs upon the smoky 
town, and soon arrived in the dehghtful Park which 
takes its name from Greenwich. Here they joined 
the festive throng, and participated in all the sports 
of the place. 

A girl, about sixteen, exceeding lovely in her per- 
son, and much more elegantly dressed than the rest 
of holy-day gentry, suddenly attracted the attention of 
our young merchant. He inquired her name, and 
found she was the only daughter of Mrs. Hastings, 
a celebrated milliner in the Strand. It was not long 
before Sprightly, with his usual forwardness, introduc- 
ed himself to this young woman's acquaintance ; she 
had two companions with her, of her own sex, and 
Sprightly proposed that his friends and the ladies 
should dine together at the Star and Garter, and 
make a jolly party. The invitation was eagerly ac- 
cepted, and Charles was so struck with the charms 
of Miss Hastings, who sung several love songs in a 
most enchanting manner, that the hours rolled away 
unperceived, and the clock struck eleven before he 
thought of returning to town. It was not without 
great difficulty that carriages were now obtained to 



98 

convey this dissi}3aied company to London ; and the 
embarrassment Charles was thrown into, at finding it 
was near one o'clock^ when they set the ladies down 
at Mrs. Hastings's house, is not easy to be described. 
He had never been so Me from home by several 
boms, and began to lament his situation in very pa- 
thetic terms to Sprightly and his companions, who, 
after repeated bursts of laughter, endeavoured to con- 
vince him of the absurdity of such a slavish attention 
to old Put's regulations. The keenness of their ani- 
madversions contributed to lessen his respect for Mr. 
Invoice, and they readily adjourned to a tavern in 
Covent Garden, where, after repeatedly toasting the 
healths of their fair companions, a scene of intoxica- 
tion ensued, and our unfortunate youth added the 
vice of drunkenness to irregularity. 

The next morning was accompanied with many 
derious reflections ; and an aching head and a heavy 
heart, the inseparable appendages to debauchery, 
contributed to heighten the distress his foUy had ex- 
posed him to. Penetrated with shame and sorrow, 
he got up before his companions, and slunk into his 
ancle's house as soon as the doors were open. The 
old gentleman, who had been extremely unhappy, 
from the apprehension that some accident had befal- 
len him, on hearing an account of the matter, which 
Charles glossed over with many falsities, gently re- 
proved him for the unwarrantable manner in which 
they acted, and endeavoured to show him how well 
his former observations, upon the consequences of 
what is called holy -day making, had been founded. 



99 

The first deviations from virtue are usually follow^ 
e.d by greater degrees of iniquity. Charles had got 
into bad company, which is much sooner acquired 
than shaken off; he had conceived an affection for a 
girl, with whose character he was entirely unac- 
quainted, a circumstance attended with more danger 
to unguarded youth than most others to which they 
are liable. In a few days he procured an opportu- 
nity of seeing Sprightly, who informed him he had 
seen the ladies : that they had settled a party for 
Richmond the ensuing Sunday, and that his company 
was requested by Miss Hastings. Charles felt his 
heart dilate at the name, and he joyfully accepted of 
the kind invitation. The expedition to Richmond, 
like that to Greenwich, was accompanied with a sin- 
gular scene of mirth and festivity, during which he 
made a declaration of his passion to Miss Clara, for 
that was the name of Mrs. Hastings's daughter, who 
received his addresses with great affability. The bill, 
which amounted to a considerable sum, was dis- 
charged in a fit of gallantry by Charles, who, upon 
several occasions of the like nature, bore the expense 
of the company, who constantly laughed at him be- 
hind his back for being so egregious a dupe. 

Mr. Invoice saw, with regret, the unfortunate train 
the affairs of his nephew were in, and frequently ex- 
postulated with him, in the mildest manner, to little 
effect. He now paid no regard to the duties of his 
profession, but lived in a continual scene of idleness 
and dissipation. In his sober moments, he sometimes 
determined to reform ; but his bad habits had taken 



100 

too deep a root to be easily got rid of, and his resolu- 
tions were constantly destroyed by the sophistry of 
Sprightly, who found his account in keepinghim com- 
pany. His irregularities had involved him in a num- 
ber of little debts, which the allowance his father had 
settled upon him, though a very genteel one, would 
not enable him to discharge. These circumstances 
at length came to the knowledge of Mr. Invoice, 
who, trembling for the fate of his nephew, called him 
into his study, and remonstrated to him upon his pro- 
ceedings with more warmth than ever he had before. 
Charles confessed his errors, and promised amend- 
ment ; but the old gentleman had been imposed 
upon too often to place any confidence in his decla- 
rations. Give me a list of your debts, Charles, said 
the good old man, and they shall be discharged ; but 
the period is at hand at which we must part. I have 
long lamented the depravity of your conduct, and 
must insist on your returning to your father. The 
company you keep in this town will lead you to de- 
struction ; and it is absolutely necessary you should 
be as speedily removed from it as possible. 

The determined manner in which Mr. Invoice de- 
livered these words, left Charles no room to doubt of 
his being resolved to put his intention in execution. 
A banishment from London was what he by no means 
relished, and the thoughts of leaving Clara were in- 
supportable. The girl, without deserving his esteem, 
had taken entire possession of his heart, and they 
would probably have been immediately married, had 
not her mother^ who was exceedingly artful, disco- 



101 

vered he was a younger son, aid had nothing to ex- 
pect but from the bounty of his uncle. A short time 
after, Mr. Marchmont arrived in town, and as he was 
a man of very warm temper, M*-. Invoice thought it 
necessary to mention the occasion of his parting with 
his son as tenderly as possible. After he had recited 
his objections to the lad's conduct with the greatest 
delicacy, Mr. Marchmont assured him he was deter- 
mined on making the youth atteitive to business; 
and, as London was not a proper place for him to 
continue in, he was resolved he should go abroad for 
a few years. Mr. Invoice did not disapprove of this 
measure, and having a friend at Boston, whose cha- 
racter was exceedingly amiable, liefioped by sending 
him to that settlement, where the manners of the inha- 
bitants would be a continual check Ipon his irregular 
proceedings, there might be some djiance of a refor- 
mation being brought about. \ 

Charles was amply supplied withevery thing ne- 
cessary and convenient for his passage in a few weeks 
after, during which time, as often as he could steal 
from his father, he constantly passedthe hours with 
his dear Clara, who promised to ke^ up a regular 
correspondence with him, and vowed ^ an eternal at- 
tachment. A few days before the ship was ready to 
sail, Mr. Invoice, at the conclusion df a short but 
pathetic discourse, calculated for the government of 
his future conduct, gave him a bank not^for one hun- 
dred pounds, assuring him at the same time, that no 
reward should be wanting if he would adopt a dif- 
ferent system of life from that he had so lately pur- 



jm2 

siied. Charles received his uncle's favour with great 
appearance of gratitude, and laid out part of it in an 
elegant gold watch ^nd a diamond ring, which he 
presented %o Miss Hastings as pledges of his affec- 
tion. The day of 6is departure being arrived, his 
father and Mr. In\pice accompanied him to Deal, 
where he embarked on board a stout New-England 
brigY and in a few hours a favourable wind springing 
up, lost sight of thi English shore. 

His passage to /Boston was attended with no re- 
markable occurrepc^ ; suffice it to say, he devoted 
his time, during tl e voyage, chiefly to the perusal of 
siH^h moral writei-3 as Mr. Invoice had recommended 
to him, and serioisly determined to do every thing in 
his power to reirstate himself in the esteem of his 
best friendsv / 

After a pleasait run, of little more than five weeks, 
the vessel ancho ed in Massachusetts bay, and Charles 
was received vith great hospitality by his uncle's 
friend, Mr. Bater, who had been prepared for his 
coming, by let ers recommending him to bis care in 
the strongest t3rms. The manners of the people of 
Boston but litt e accorded with those which our young 
traveller had oeen acquainted with amidst the circle 
of his thougUless companions in London. iVs his 
heart vv^as naturally good, and all temptation removed, 
he soon gave Mr, Barter the warmest hopes of his 
entire refornmtion ; to which nothing more contribu- 
ted than the acquaintance he formed with a young 
lady who had been left by her father under the guar- 
dianship of Mr. Barter She v»/as a native of ?hila- 



103 

delphia, and, her pareirts being quakers, she had been 
educated in the prinaples of that sect. At the time 
of our young merchant's settlement with her guardian, 
she was about thirteen years of age; and, with a sin- 
gular sweetness of countenance and elegance of forin, 
possessed an uncoitimon benevolence of heart. All 
his leisure hours were passed in the company of this 
agreeable girl, whom he loved with the affection of a 
brother, and took uncommon pains to make her ac- 
qainted with the sentiments of the best writers in the 
English and French languages. During his conti- 
nuance in America, he crjnstantly corresponded 
with Miss Hastings, w^hose letters were lively, and 
full of professions of eternal i?gard : and the advices 
he received from his father fjnd uncle were such as 
promised him an ample retuih for his persevering in 
the laudable plan they undcrslood from Mr. Barter he 
had determined to pursue. 

When he had been about tiiree years absent from 
his native land, the news of Mr. Marchmont's death 
interrupted his happiness in a very eminent degree. 
Mr. Invoice condoled him with great sensibility upon 
the awful occasion, and, convinced of the sincerity of 
his reformation, invited him in very pressing terms to 
return to London. The idea of gratifying a desire of 
visiting his mother country, so prevalent in most 
youthful minds, in some measure, however, allevia- 
ted his sorrow for the loss of a parent. He commu- 
nicated his uncle's request to Mr. Barter, who, to his 
infinite satisfaction, informed him he not only approv- 
ed of his embarking for Englandj but that he him- 



104 

seif would accompany him in&e voyage ; as, besides 
some affairs of business which he wished to settle in 
that island, his respect for the n.emory of his depart- 
ed friend stimulated him to take his ward to Europe 
in order to improve her educaion. In about six 
i^veeks after, Mr. Barter, having put the affairs of the 
house into a proper train, agreed with the master of a 
ship, bound to Bristol, for his passage, with Charles 
and his lovely charge, Miss Melviil. The prospect 
of seeing the happy isle, which had so long been dis- 
tinguished for wealth ard independence, excited the 
most pleasing sensatiors in the minds of all the party. 
They had crossed the greatest part of the vast Atlan- 
tic, accompanied by veiy prosperous weather, when a 
violent storm arose, wHch lasted for some days, and 
carried away their foremast and binnacle. In this 
forlorn condition they continued for near a week after, 
when, during a hard gale of wind, in the middle of 
the night, the vessel suddenly struck on a ridge of 
rocks. The confusion of the crew called Mr. Barter 
and his two companions upon deck ; a scene of dis- 
tress ensued which is not to be described. In a few 
minutes she received a second shock, which beat iia 
part of her bottom ; and while the people were busy 
in hoisting out the boat, she went to pieces. 

Our unfortunate adventurer, on first being throwii 
into the water, was in a state ^f insensibility ; in a 
short time, however, he in some degree recovered, 
himself, and, being an excellent swimmer, made an 
effort for his preservation. The silver beams of the 
moon faintly trembled upon the billows ; but instead 



105 

of affording any relief, served only to show him the 
horrors of his condition. Among the bodies which 
were floating near him, he plainly distinguished that 
of a female, whom he knew to be his fair pupil. 
He endeavoured to approach it, but in vain. The 
waves interfered, and her cries still vibrated in his 
ears, whilst they covered her from his sight. He had 
been in the oce^tn a considerable time, and his 
strength was almost exhausted, when he was cast 
upon a bank of sand, from whence he w^as quickly 
washed on shore by the violence of the storm. It 
was now daybreak; and the first thing he did was 
to give thanks to the Almighty for his deliverance. 
He contemplated the melancholy scene he had just 
escaped from with the utmost emotion, and burst into 
tears at the sight of some dead bodies, which were 
at a small distance dashing against the rocks. He 
wandered along the sea-beach for some time^ when 
he met with a company of peasants, who informed 
him he was on the western coast of Ireland, near the 
town of Donnegal. They took him into one of their 
little cabins, gave him dry clothes, and some neces- 
sary refreshment. When he had in some degree re- 
covered from the fatigue he had undergone, he re- 
turned to the sea side, w^here he found the country 
people very busy in plundering such part of the cargo 
as was drove on shore. At low water he discovered 
the corpse of the captain, and two of the seamen, 
which, with pious hands, assisted by the hospitable 
natives, he buried under the green sw^ard of a neigh- 
bouring field. On the strictest inquiry, it did not 

14 



106 

appear that any one had beieii saved troiii the wreck 
but himself. A few guineas which remained in his 
pocket, enabled him to proceed to Dublin, from 
w^hence he immediately wrote an account of the 
calamity which had befallen him to his uncle, who, 
with all possible expedition, remitted him a sum am- 
ply sufficient to bear his expenses to London, where 
he arrived about ten days afterwards. 

Mr. Invoice received his nephew with the warmest 
affection : he told him he had but one point to insist 
on, which was, that he should not, on any pretence, 
renew his acquaintance with Miss Hastings, who the 
old gentleman assured him was a very bad girl. 
Charles sighed at this preliminary article, (on the sa- 
cred preservation of which Mr. Invoice declared his 
favour depended) but promised to act in such a man- 
ner as would give his uncle no cause of-complaint* 
In a few days he received a billet from Clara, reprov- 
ing him, in very pathetic terms, for his neglect, and 
requesting to see him. He was unable to withstand 
the invitation, and flew to her apartments, which 
were in a court near Covent Garden. She fainted 
on his approach ; and soon after, in a flood of tears, 
told him, that her mother had been made a bankrupt 
within a few weeks, that they were reduced to ex- 
treme poverty, and had been abandoned by all their 
acquaintance except his old friend Sprightly, who 
had acted with generosity towards theip ; at this in- 
stant that young man entered the room, and Charles 
cordially embraced him. An interesting conversa- 
tion ensued, in which Sprightly took great liberties- 



107 

with Mr. Invoice's character; he assured Charles, 
that his father, previous to his death, had placed two 
thousand pounds in his uncle's hands for his use; 
that the old gentleman had practised every artifice 
to deter Clara from Vviiting to him while he was in 
America; and'^ickedly endeavoured to corrupt her 
innocence. Thunderstruck at this information, which 
Sprightly insisted, for the present, should be kept 
secret from Mr. Invoice, our adventurer now return- 
ed home, very much prejudiced against his uncle. 
He could now easily account for his forbidding him 
to see the girl of his heart, and looked on his con- 
cealment of the money his father had left him, as an 
unwarrantable piece of hypocrisy. He was now 
constantly with Miss Hastings, Sprightly, and the rest 
of the old set which ruined him before. They con- 
tinually poisoned his mind Avith regard to Mr. Invoice, 
who, perceiving his nephew falling into his former 
manner of life, expostulated with him in very severe 
terms upon his conduct. Charles, irritated at this 
treatment, answered with great warmth; and the 
altercation terminated in his precipitately leaving the 
old gentleman's house. 

After this period, this mistaken youth was entirely 
influenced in his proceedings by Sprightly and Miss 
Hastings. His extravagancies soon left him penny- 
less ; and when he WTote to Mr. Invoice for a supply, 
out of the money his father had left him, that gentle- 
man replied, he would not part with a shilling, as, (if 
Charles did not reform,) the money, by Mr. March- 
mont's direction, w^as to be divided among his other 



108 

children. He had contuiued for some weeks " stepp- 
ed up to the lips in poverty," as Shakspeare says, 
frequently execrating the injustice of his uncle, when 
Sprightly called on him one evening, and told him 
Miss Hastings had been carried to a spunging-house 
for a considerable sum, which sh^ ^lad engaged to 
pay for her mother. Distracted at this intelligence, 
he hastened to the place, and lamented the distress 
his mistress w^as involved in Avith great sensibility. 
He formed several plans to relieve her, but saw the 
folly of them all as soon as he proposed them, as he 
had neither money nor interest. D — n it, says 
Sprightly, let us have no more castle building. I have 
just parted from Jack Scribble, who you know is 
clerk to Subtle the attorney, and he assures me your 
uncle is gone into the country to be married to a 
young girlj whose family nobody knows ; and that, 
previous to his departure, Mr. Subtle made his will, 
in which you was cut off with a shilling ; confound 
the scoundrel, do yourself justice on him, make him 
refund the money he has cheated you of. " How is 
that to be effected ?" replied Charles, with great 
eagerness. ^' How !" rejoined Sprightly, " why go 
to his house, his servants will not refuse you admit- 
tance ; pretend that you are sorry at having disobliged 
him, and that you have come to take up your abode 
there." " What then," says the youth. " Pshaw," 
continued his supposed friend, " don't you conceive ? 
Break open his desk, pay yourself, and leave the 
(Joating rascal a receipt in full." 

The spirit of Ciiarles was so broken by his niisfor- 



109 

tunes, and his mind so depraved by the company he 
kept, that he, who at another time would have spurn- 
ed the proposer of such infamous advice from his 
sight, now received it without any marks of disappro- 
bation ; and in consequence of Miss Hastings declar- 
ing the officer would take her to prison the next morn- 
ing, unless the money was paid, and her approving of 
the measure Sprightly had mentioned, he determined 
to put this dreadful project in execution that very 
night. He accordingly repaired to his uncle's, where 
he met with a kind reception from the servants, who 
strengthened the story Sprightly had told him of Mr. 
Invoice being gone out of town to meet a young 
lady, for whom, they miderstood, he had a great 
regard. 

Charles took up his lodgings in his old apartments, 
and arose about an hour after midnight, in order to 
accomplish his desperate intention. He stole softly 
downstairs, and made his way, greatly agitated, into 
the counting house, where he forced the lock of his 
uncle's desk, and snatching out a red leather case, in 
which Mr. Invoice used to keep bank notes, and other 
valuable writings, he thrust it hastily into his bosom, 
and returned with great celerity to his chamber in 
order to examine the contents. He was not a little 
surprised at finding the first paper he opened to be a 
letter from his father on his death bed, which directly 
gave the lie to the story Sprightly had told him, re- 
lating to the two thousand pounds ; which was di- 
rected to be given to Charles's brothers, unless he 
broke off all correspondence ^vitb Clara, and proved 



lie 

liimself deserving of his uncle's good opinion. His 
heart now began to sink within him ; but what was 
his astonishment, on discovering in the next paper 
he unfolded, which proved to be his uncle's will, that 
the good man, after praying for the amendment of 
his conduct, had made him sole heir to all his fortune ! 
Nature was unable to support this unexpected piece 
of information ; the youth could only exclaim, gracious 
Heaven, what goodness ! and fell senseless on the 
floor. On his recovering from the paroxysm of shame 
and astonishment, he found himself assisted by two 
of his uncle's faithful domestics, who, hearing him 
talk in a wild incoherent manner, forced him to bed, 
supposing he had lost his senses. 

The fact was, the shock he had received threw him 
into a violent delirium, which lasted several days, 
when the strength of his constitution got the better 
of his disorder. The first object he saw by his bed 
was Mr. Invoice, who, in the most affectionate man- 
ner, conjured him to make himself perfectly easy, for 
he had forgot all his faults. Charles recovered daily^ 
and, when his health was sufficiently established, his 
uncle produced him a letter from Sprightly, who had 
been committed to Newgate for forgery, in which 
ihat unprincipled wretch confessed that he and Clara 
tiad been married before Charles went to America ; 
that their whole conduct had been a scene of hypo- 
crisy to fleece him of his money ; and that they had 
incited him to commit the last atrocious act, in order 
to preserve them from destruction. Charles expressed 
great compunction at his being so imposed upon, and 



Ill 

related to his uncle, with the strictest candour, every 
thing that had been reported by that artful couple to 
alienate his affection. " Some part of their story 
was tme," said his uncle, " I did go to bring home a 
young lady, not to make her my wife, but your's, my 
dear boy. Summon all your resolution, and preparo 
for an unexpected interview." 

Thus saying, he suddenly left the apartment, and 
immediately returned with Mr. Barter, who led in 
Miss Melvil. Words were not powerful enough to 
express their feelings ; tears of joy spontaneously burst 
forth, and they ran into each others arms. After the 
violence of their joy had a little subsided, Mr. Barter 
accounted for their preservation, by acquainting him 
that he, and two of the crew, happily reached the 
long boat, which had been hoisted safe into the wa- 
ter while the ship went to pieces, that they soon 
after were fortunate enough to take up Miss Melvil, 
who lay without appearance of life for several hours : 
that early the next morning they fell in with a vessel 
bound to Lisbon, the master of which kindly took 
them on board, and they were under the necessity of 
accompanying him to that metropolis ; from whence 
they wrote immediately to Mr. Invoice, and told him 
they had agreed for a passage on board a sloop be- 
longing to Falmouth, at which port he very politely 
received them, and first acquainted them that Charles 
was alive, for whose loss Miss Melvil had been in- 
consolable. 

The happiness of this party could receive uo other 
addition, than by the maniage Mr. Invoice had pro- 



112 

loosed, and which accordingly took place a few 
weeks after. 

Miss Clara, otherwise Mrs. Sprightly, after her hus- 
band had been some time in New^gate, eloped with 
an Irish officer to Galway ; and the unhappy culprit, 
after being convicted of his offence at the old Bailey, 
owed his life to the interest of the man he had injured. 

Such, reader, are the incidents that occurred in 
the life of Charles Marchmont, a youth, whose mis- 
fortunes all originated on a Whitsun holy-day ; and 
such will ever be the consequences of the smallest 
deviations from virtue, if not timely restrained by the 
dictates of prudence and morality. 



The foUoiving is a loell known fact, and was related by 
a clergyman whose veracity is unimp cached ; and it 
will serve to prove the heaven inspired Shakspeare^s 
observation^ that 

" Murder will out, tho' seas overwhelm, 

*' And mountains hide it from the face of day.'* ,..,, 



About the year 1769, a young gentleman of the 
name of Gordier, a person of high accomplishments, 
and immense property in the Island of Jersey, was 
upon the point of marrying the daughter of a wealthy 
merchant in Guernsey ; but on a sudden he was lost 
to his friends and relations, as well as to the young 
lady who was to have been his bride ; and notwith- 



113 

standing the most diligent inquiry in both islands, 
with every possible search that could be made, not 
the least intelligence could be obtained either of his 
death or his retreat. 

It happened, however, that after a time, when all 
discourse concerning him had subsided, his body 
was accidentally found in Guernsey, by some boys 
in traversing the beach, with two wounds on the 
back, and one on the head, thrust into the cavity of 
a rock, whose mouth w^as so small, that it must have 
been with difficulty the body could have been made 
to enter it. 

This discovery, with those evident proofs of murder, 
alarmed the two families ; the former inquiries were 
in vain renewed ; not the least light to countenance 
suspicion, or to ground conjecture, could be gathered, 
to trace out the murderer ; and all that could be done, 
was to pay the last duty to the remains of the unfor- 
tunate youth, by solemnizing his funeral with all the 
marks of unaffected sorrow. 

The mother of the young gentleman remained in- 
consolable ; and the lady to w^hom he was soon to 
have been wedded, pined in secret for the loss of the 
only man in the world whom she could love. She 
was, indeed, courted by a young merchant^ but though 
she was, in a manner, corstrained by her parents to 
admit his addresses, she ^vas inwardly resolved never 
to give him her hand. 

The mother of Gordier, who never ceased to rumi- 
nate on the catastrophe which had befallen her son, 
was not a little solicitous for the welfare of the young 

W 



114 

ladv, whom she looked upon as her daughter-in-law, 
and whom she regarded with the greatest tenderness. 
After many melancholy years had passed, hearing 
that she was in a deep decline, she determined to go 
to Guernsey, that she might see, before she was gone 
forever, her who was to have been the wife of a son 
so much lamented, and still so dear to her remem- 
brance and affection ; her only remaining child, a son, 
accompanied her on the voyage ; when they arrived, 
they consulted with her father and mother and the 
apothecary, who advised, a& the young lady was in so 
dangerous a way, not to surprise her by an unexpect- 
ed visit, till she was prepared by degrees to receive it. 
But notwithstanding all the care that could be taken, 
the sight of the mother brought to her mind the full 
remembrance of the son, and the shock was too great 
for her weak frame to bear; she fainted upon the first 
approach of Mrs. Gordier, and it was with difficulty 
that she was brought to herself. The mother was cu- 
rious to know every little circumstance that attended 
.the last interview of the young lovers, and of all that 
had passed since the discovery of the murder of her 
son ; and the young hudy wa^ no less earnest to pro- 
long the conversation, but trer fits returned at almost 
every pcriodj and she co>ild only say how tenderly 
they parted, and with .vhat ardency she expected his 
promised return the riext da)^. It was no small con- 
cern to the afflicted mother to see the poor lady in 
this weak state, dying, as she plainly perceived she 
was, of a broken heart ; and the company present 
could not forbear vehement execrations against the 
author of this double distress. 



115 

Mrs. Gordier, all on a sudden, burst into a flood oi' 
tears, on seeing a jewel, very remarkable and valuable, 
pendent to the young lady's watch, which she knew 
her son had purchased, as a present to her, before he 
left the island of Jersey. The violence of her grief 
w^as observed by the young lady, who had just spirits 
enough to ask her the immediate cause. Being told 
that the sight of the jewel at her w^atch occasioned it, 
the young lady took it in her hand w ith a motion of 
contempt, said something Avhich sounded like clerk, 
fell backwards, and expired. Mrs. Gordier now broke 
out in violent paroxysms of rage, and declared that 
the jewel had belonged to her son, and that certainly 
the young lady just dead must have, some how^, been 
a party concerned in this murder, or how did she come 
by it ; as she was positive that her son had it in his 
possession the morning he was missing. The ]>arents 
of the young lady could not hear their darling child 
thus cruelly abused w^ithout feeling resentrnxCnt against 
Mrs. Gordier, w^ho still insisted that the jewel was her 
son's, and that the sudden death of the young lady 
was occasioned by a fear of detection, for she was as- 
sured that she knew of his murder. Tears and mu- 
tual reproaches now took place, as the friends and re- 
lations of the young lady could not help resenting the 
ungenerous interpretation put upon the last closing 
moments of her blameless life. A scene of trouble 
and mutual reproach ensued, which is easier to con- 
ceive than to relate. When the commotion, however, 
was a little abated, and reason began to take place, 
ihe friends of both families very cordially interposed, 



lie 

and endeavoured to reconcile the mothers, by a cooi 
examination of the circumstances that occasioned the 
unseasonable heat. 

Young Mr. Gordier recollected that he had heard 
his brother declare, that the jewel in question was to 
be presented to his bride on the wedding day ; and, 
therefore, as that had never happened, his mother 
might be justified in her suspicions, though perhaps 
the lady might be innocent. The sister of the de- 
ceased calmly replied, that she believed the warmth 
that had happened was founded on a mistake, which 
^he thought herself happy in being able to correct. 
The jewel, she said, which her sister wore, was not 
presented to her by Mr. Gordier, but was a present 
to her, some years after his death, by Mr. Galliard, a 
very reputable merchant in Jersey, who had very 
assiduously paid his addresses to her, encouraged so 
to do with a view,if possible, to relieve her mind, 
by diverting her affections to a new object ; that as 
many jewels have the same appearance, it was ne- 
cessary, before any thing was said, to examine close- 
ly, and be certain that it was the same. Mrs. Gordier, 
v^hose rage had now softened into tears, took the 
jewel in her hand, and touching a secret spring, it 
opened and discovered a beautiful picture of her son. 
Yes, said Mrs. Gordier, almost petrified with horror, 
it is, indeed it is, and that Galliard Ibelieve to be the 
murderer of my son : she now, as well as she was 
able, apologized to the parents of the young lady ; 
whose embarrassment, the scorn with which she 
wanted to spurn the jewel from her, and her desire to 



117 

declare to her from whence it came, told plainly hcv 
innocence. All these circumstances concurred to fix 
the murder on Mr. Galliard, who had formerly becr2 
her father's clerk; the last word she attempted to 
utter w^as now interpreted to mean the cl-er-k. 

The clergyman, who was present, and who gave 
this relation, being the common friend of Galliard 
and the family where he now was, advised modera- 
tion and temper in the pursuit of justice. Many 
circumstances, he said, may concur to entangle inno- 
cence in the snares of guilt ; and he hoped, for the ho- 
nour of human nature, that a gentleman of so fair a 
character as Mr. Galliard, could never be guilty of so 
foul a crime : he therefore wished he might be sent 
for, on the present melancholy occasion, rather as a 
mourner, than as a murderer ; by which means the 
charge might be brought on by degrees, and then, if 
imiocent, as he hoped he would appear, his character 
>vould stand fair ; if guilty, care should be taken that 
he should not escape. He added, in support of his 
counsel, that a man, once publicly charged with 
murder, upon circumstances strong as the present 
appeared, though his innocence might be clear as 
the sun at noon day to those who examined him. 
w^ould never again be able to redeem his character 
with the world, let his whole life after be ever so 
irreproachable. 

The greatest part of the company seemed to ap- 
prove of his advice and reasons ; but it was visible, 
by the countenance of Mrs. Gordier. that she, in her 
own mind, had prejudged him Guilty. However; 



118 

in conformity to tlie advice that had been given, 
Mr. Galliard was sent for^ and in a kw hours the 
messenger returned, accompanied by Mr. GalHard 
in person. The old lady, on his entering the room, 
in the vehemence of her passion, charged him ab- 
mptly with the murder of her son. Mr. Galliard made 
answer coolly, that indeed he well knew her son, but 
he had not seen him for many days before the day 
of his disappearance, being then out of the island 
upon business, as the family in whose house he now 
was could attest. But this jewel, (said the mother, 
showing him the jewel open as it was) is an incon- 
testable proof of your guilt. You gave the deceased 
this jewel, which was purchased by my son, and was 
in his possession at the time of his death. He deni- 
<>d ever seeing the jewel. The sister of the deceased 
then confronted him, and taking it in her hand, and 
closing it, this jewel, (said she) you gave to my* sis- 
ter in my presence, on such a day, (naming the day, 
the hour, and the place) and pressed her to accept it; 
she refused it : you pressed her again ; she returned 
it ; and was not prevailed on to take it, till I placed 
it to .her watch, and persuaded her to wear it. He 
iiow betrayed some signs of guilt ; but, looking upon 
it now it was closed, he owned the giving it, and 
presently recollecting himself, said he knew it not in 
the form it was first presented to him ; but this 
trinket (said he) I purchased of liCvi the Jew, whom 
you all know, and who has travelled these islands for 
more than twenty years. He, no doubt, can tell how 
he came by it. The clergyman now thought himself 
happy in the counsel he had given ; and addressing 



119 

himself to Mrs. Gordier — I hope, madam, you will 
now be patient till the affair has had a full hearing, 
Mr. Galliard is clear in his justification, and the Jew 
only appears to be the guilty person at present ; he 
is now in the island, and shall soon be apprehended. 
The old lady was again calm, and forced to acknow- 
ledge her rashness, owing, as she said, to the impetu- 
osity of her temper, and to the occasion that produ- 
ced it. She concluded with begging pardon of Mr. 
Galliard, whom she thought she had injured. 

Galliard, triumphing in his innocence, hoped the 
lady would be careful of what she said, and threaten- 
ed, if his character suffered by the charge, to refei' 
the injury to the decision of the law. He lamented 
the sudden death of the unfortunate young lady, and 
melted into tears when he approached her bed. He 
took his leave, after some hours stay, with becoming 
decency, and every one, even the mother, pronounced 
him innocent. 

It was sortie days before the Jew was found ; and 
when the news was spread, that the Jew was in cus- 
tody who had murdered young Gordier, remorse, and 
the fear of public shame, seized Galliard, and, the 
night preceding the day in which he was to have 
confronted the Jew before a magistrate, he was found 
dead, with a bloody penknife in his hand, wherewdtli 
he had stabbed himself in three places, two of which 
were mortal. 

A letter was found on the table in his room, ac- 
knowledging his guilt, and concluding with these re- 
markable word^: " Nofl« but tho^e who hare expe- 



120 

lienced the furious Impulse of ungovernable love, will 
pardon the crime which I have committed, in order to 
obtain the incomparable objec^by whom my passions 
were inflamed. But thou,*0 Father of Mercies! 
who implanted in my soul those strong desires, will 
forgive one rash attempt to accomplish my deter- 
mined purpose, in opposition, as it should seem, to 
thy almighty providence.'' 



CHAUBERT, THE MISANTHROPIST. 

Chaubert was born at Bordeaux, and died there 
not many years ago in the Franciscan Convent ; I 
was in that city soon after this event, and my curio- 
sity led me to collect several particulars relative to 
this extraordinary humorist. He inherited a good 
fortune from his parents, and in his youth was of a 
benevolent disposition, subject, however, to sudden 
caprices, and extremes of love and hatred. Various 
causes are assigned for his misanthrophy, but the 
principal disgust, which turned him furious against 
mankind, seems to have arisen from the treachery of 
a friend, who ran away with his 'mistress just when 
Chaubert Avas oh the point of marrying her ; the in- 
gratitude of this man was certainly of a very black 
nature, and the provocation heinous, for Chaubert, 
whose passions were always in extremes, had given a 
thousand instances of romantic generosity to this un- 
worthy friend, and reposed an entire confidence in 



121 

him in the matter of his mistress; he had even saved 
him from drowning, at the imminent risk of his life, by 
leaping out of his own boat into the Garonne, and 
swimming to his assistance when his boat was sink- 
ing in the middle of the stream. His passion for 
his mistress was no less vehement ; so that his disap- 
pointment had every aggravation possible, and ope- 
rating upon a nature more than commonly suscep- 
tible, revei*sed every principle of humanity in the 
heart of Chaubert, and made him, for the greatest 
part of his life, the declared enemy of human nature. 
After many years, passed in foreign parts, he was 
accidentally brought to his better senses by disco- 
vering that through these events, which he had so 
deeply resented, he had providentially escaped from, 
miseries of the most fatal nature ; thereupon he re- 
turned to his own country, and entering into the ordet 
of Franciscans, employed the remainder of his life 
in atoning for his past errors after the most exemplary 
manner. On all occasions of distress. Father Chau- 
bert's zeal presented itself to the relief and comfort 
of the unfortunate, and sometimes he would enforce 
his admonitions of resignation by the lively picture 
be would draw of his own extravagancies : in extra- 
ordinary cases he has been known to give his com- 
municants a transcript or diary, of his own hand 
^vriting, of certain passages of his life, in which he 
had minuted his thoughts at the time they occurred, 
and which he kept by him for such extraordinary puf- 
posc!?. This paper was put into my hands by a gen- 

16 



122 

tiemau who hacl received much benefit from this 
good father's conversation and instruction ; I had his 
leave fortranscribingit, or pubhshing, if I thought fit; 
this I shall now avail myself of, as I think it is a very 
curious journal. 

My son, whoever thou art, profit by the words of 
experience, and let the example of Chaubert, who 
was a beast without reason, and is become a man by- 
repentance, teach thee wisdom in adversity, and in- 
spire thy heart with sentiments of resignation to the 
w ill of the Almighty. 

When the treachery of people, which I ought to 
have despised, had turned my heart to marble, and 
my blood to gall, I was determined upon leaving 
France, and seeking out some of those countries from 
whose famished inhabitants nature withholds her 
bounty, and where men groan in slavery and sorrow. 
As I passed through the villages towards the frontiers 
of Spain, and saw the peasants dancing in a ring to 
the pipe, or carousing at their vintages, indignation 
smote my heart, and I wished that heaven would dash 
their cups wdth poison, or blast the sunshine of their 
joy with hail and tempest. 

I traversed the dehghtful province of Biscay with- 
(Hit rest to the soles of my feet, or sleep to the temples 
of my head. Nature was before my eyes, dressed in 
her gayest attire. Thou mother of fools, I exclaimed, 
why dost thou trick thyself out so daintily for knaves 
and harlots to make a property of thee ? The children 
of thy womb are vipers in thy bosom, and will sting 



li;i 



o 



iliee mortally when thou hast given them their fill at 
lh>' imj)iovident breasts. The birds chaunted in the 
grove?, the fruit-trees glistened on the mountains' sides, 
tlie water- falls made music for the echoes, and ntan 
went singing to his labour. Give me, said I, the 
(lank of fetters and the yell of galley slaves under the 
lashes of the whip. And in the bitterness of my 
heart I cursed the earth as I trod over its prolific 
surface. 

I entered the ancient kingdom of Castile, and the 
prospect was a recreation to my sorrow-vexed soul: 
I saw the lands lie waste and fallow : the vines trailed 
on the ground, and buried their fruitage in the furroAvs: 
the hand of man was idle, and nature slept as in the 
cradle of creation ; the villages were thinly scattered, 
and ruin sat upon the unroofed sheds, where lazy 
pride lay stretched upon its straw in beggary and 
vermin. 

Ah ! this is something, J cried out ; this scene is 
fit for man, and I'll enjoy it. I saw a yellow, half 
starved form, cloaked to the heels in rags, his broad 
brimmed beaver on his head, through which hi:^ 
staring locks crept out in squalid shreds, that fell like 
snakes upon the shoulders of a fiend. Such ever be 
the fate of human nature ! I'll aggravate his misery 
by the insult of charity. Hark ye, Castilian, I ex- 
claimed ; take this pisette ; it is coin ; it is silver from 
ihe mint of Mexico : a Spaniard dug it from the mine, 
a Frenchman gives it to you ; put by your pride and 
touch it. Curst be your nation, the Castilian replied, 
I'll starve before I'll take it from your hands. Starve, 
ihen, I answered, and passed on. 



124 ■ 

i climbed a barren mountain ; the wolves howleft 
in the desert, and the vultures screamed in flocks for 
prey. I looked, and beheld a gloomy mansion under- 
neath my feet, vast as the pride of its founder, gloomy 
and disconsolate as his soul. It was the EscuriaL 
Here, then, the tyrant reigns, said I ; here let him reign ; 
hard as these rocks his throne, waste as these deserts 
be his dominion ! A meagre creature passed me : fa- 
mine stared in his eye ; he cast a look about him, and 
sprung upon a kid that was browsing in the desert ; he 
smote it dead with his staff, and hastily thrust it inta 
his wallet. Ah! sacrilegious villain! cried a brawny 
fellow ; and leaping on him from behind a rock, seized 
the hungry wretch in the act ; he dropped upon his. 
knees, and begged for mercy. Mercy ! cried he that 
seized him,, do you purloin the property of the ehuirch, 
;^nd ask for mercy ? Take it ! So saying, he beat him 
to the earth with a blow, as he was kneeling at his 
feet, and then dragged him towards the convent of St. 
I^awrence, I could have hugged the miscreant for 
the deed, 

I held my journey through the desert, and desola- 
tion followed me to the very streets of Madrid; the 
fathers of the inquisition came forth from, the cells of 
torture; the cross was elevated before them, and a 
trembling wretch, in a saffron coloured vest, painted 
with flames of fire, w^as dragged to execution in an 
open square ; they kindled a fire about him, and 
sang praises to God, whilst the flames deliberately 
consumed their human victim : He was a Jew who 
isiiflfered ; they were Christians who tormented. See 



125 

what the religion of God is, said I to mysel:f, in the 
liands of man. 

From the gates of Madrid I bent my course to- 
wards the port of Lisbon ; as I traversed the wilder- 
ness of Estremadura, a robber took his aim at me 
from behind a cork tree, and the ball grazed my hat 
upon my head. You have missed your aim, I cried ; 
you have lost the merit of destroying a man, Givc 
me your purse, said the robber. Take it, I replied, 
and buy with it a friend ; may it serve you as it has 
served me. 

I found the city of Lisbon in ruins; her founda- 
tions smoked upon the ground ; the dying and the 
dead laid in heaps ; terror sat in every visage, and 
mankind was visited with the plagues of the Almigh- 
ty, famine, fire, and earthquake. Have they not the 
inquisition in this country ? I asked ; I was answered 
iliey had — And do they make all this outcry about an 
earthquake ? said I within myself; let them give God 
thanks, and be quiet. 

Presently there came ships from England, loaded 
with all manner of goods for the relief of the inhabi- 
tants ; the people took th^ bounty, were preserved, 
then turned and cursed their preservers for heretics. 
This is as it should be, said I ; th^se men act up to 
their nature, and the English are a nation of fools ; I 
will not go amongst them. After a short time, behold 
a new city was raising on the ruins of the old one ! 
The people took the builder's tools, which the English 
had sent them, and made th€mselves houses. I 
overheard a fellow at his work say to his companion, 



126 

Before the earthquake, I made my bed in the streets ; 
now I shall have a house to live in. This is too much, 
said I ; their misfortunes make this people happy, 
and I will stay ho longer in their country. I de- 
scended to the banks of the Tagus : there was a ship, 
whose canvass was loosened for sailing. She is an 
English ship, says a Gallieygo porter ; they are brave 
seamen, but damned tyrants on the quarter deck. 
They pay well for what they have, says a boatman, 
and 1 am going on board her with a cargo of le- 
mons. I threw myself into the wherry, and entered 
tiie ship ; the mariners were occupied with their 
work, and nobody questioned me why I was amongst 
them. The tide wafted us into the ocean, and the 
night became tempestuous ; the vessel laboured in the 
sea, and the morning brought no respite to our toil. 

AVhither are you bound ? said I to the master — To 
hell, said he, for nothing but the devil ever drove at 
such a rate ? The fellow's voice was thunder *, the 
sailors sung in the storm, and the master's oaths were 
louder than the waves ; the third day was a dead 
calm, and he swore louder than ever. If the winds 
were of this man's making, thought I, he would not 
be content. A favourable breeze sprang up, as if it 
had come at his calling. I thought it was coming, 
snid he ; put her before the wind, it blows fair for our 
port. Bui where is your port ? again I asked him. 
Sir, says he, I can now answer your question as 1 
should do ; with God's leave I am bound to Bor- 
deaux ; every thing at sea goes as it pleases God. 
My heart sunk at the name of my native city. I wa? 



13-7 

freighted, added he, from London, with a cargo of 
goods of all sorts for the poor sufferers by the earth- 
quake ; I shall load back with wine for my owners, 
and so help out a charitable voyage with some little 
profit, if it please God to bless our endeavours. Hey- 
day ! thought I, how fair weather changes this fal- 
low's note! — Lewis, said he, to a handsome youth 
who stood at his elbow, we will now seek out thi.^ 
Monsieur Chaubert at Bordeaux, and get payment of 
his bills on your account. Shew me your bills, said 
I, for I am Chaubert. He produced them, and I saw 
my own name forged to bills in favour of the villain 
who had so treacherously dealt with me in the affair 
of the wonaan who was to have been my wife. 

" Where is the wretch," said I, '• who drev/ these 
forgeries?" The youth burst into tears. " He is my 
father," he replied, and turned away. '^ Sir/' says^ 
the master, " I am not surprised to find this fellow a 
villain to you, for I Avas once a trader in afiluence, 
and have been ruined by his means, and reduced ta 
what you see me ; I can earn a maintenance, and ^nt 
as happy in my present hard employ, nay, happier 
than when I was rich and idle ; but to defraud his 
own son proves him to be an unnatural rascal, and 
if I had him here, I would hang him at the mizen 
yard." 

When the English master declared he was happier 
in his present hard service than in his former prospe- 
rity, and that he forgave the villain who had ruined 
him, I Parted with astonishment, and stood out of 
his reach, expecting every moment that his (femy 



128 

would break out ; I looked him steadily in the face, 
and to my surprise saw no symptoms of madness ; 
there was no wandering in his eyes, and content of 
mind was impressed upon his features. '' Are you 
in your senses," I demanded, " and can you forgive 
the villain ?" " From my heart," answered he, " else 
how should I expect to be forgiven ?" His words 
struck me dumb ; my heart tugged at my bosom ; 
the blood rushed to my face. He saw my situation, 
and turned aside to give some orders to the sailors ; 
after some minutes, he resumed the conversation, and 
advancing towards me, in his rough familiar manner, 
said, " It is my way, Mr. Chaubert, to forgive and 
forget, though to be sure the fellow deserves hanging 
for his treatment of the poor boy, his son, who is as 
good a lad as ever lived, but as for father and mo- 
ther" — " Who is his mother ? what is her name ?" I 
eagerly demanded. Her name had no sooner passed 
his lips, than I felt a shock through all my frame be- 
yond that of electricity; I staggered as if with a 
sudden stroke, and caught hold of the barricade ; an 
involuntaiy shriek burst from me, and I cried out, "that 
woman, O ! that woman ;"^ " was a devil," said the 
master, " and if you knew but half the misery you 
escaped, you would fall down upon your knees and 
thank God for the blessing : I have heard your story, 
Mr. Chaubert, and when a man is in love, do you see, 
he does not like to have his mistress taken from him^ 
but some things are better lost than found, and if this 
is all you have to complain of, take my word, you 
complain of the luckiest hour in your whole life." 



129 

He would have proceeded, but I turned from him 
without uttering a word, and, shutting myself up in 
my cabin, surrendered myself to my meditations. 

My mind was now in such a tumult, that 1 cannot 
recall my thoughts, much less put them in any order 
of relation ; the ship, however, kept her course, and 
had now entered the mouth of the Garonne. Hand- 
ed on the quay of Bordeaux; the master accompanied 
nie, and young Lewis kept charge of the ship. The 
first object that met my view was a gibbet erected 
before the door of a merchant's counting house ; the 
convict was kneeling on a scaffold, whilst a friar was 
receiving his last confession; his face w^s turned 
towards us; the Englishman glanced his eye upon 
him, and instantly cried out, " look, look, Mr. Chau- 
bert, the very man, as I am alive ; it is the father of 
young Lewis." The wretch had discovered us in 
the same moment, and called aloud, " Oh, Chaubert, 
Chaubert ! let me speak to you before I die !" His 
yell was horror to my soul ; I lost the power of mo- 
tion, and the crowd pushing towards the scaffold, 
thrust me forward to the very edge of it : the friar 
ordered silence, and demanded of the wretch why he 
had called out so eagerly, and what he had further to 
confess. " Father," replied the convict, " this is the 
very man, the very Chaubert of wh'bm I was speak- 
ing ; he was the best of friends to me, and I repaid 
his kindness with the blackest treachery ; I seduced 
the woman of his affections from him, and married 
her; and because we dreaded his resentment, we con- 
spired in an attempt upon his life by poison," H^ 

17 



130 

now turned to me and proceeded as follows : " You 
may remember, Chaubert, as we were supping toge- 
ther on the verj evening of Louisa's elopement, she 
4ianded you a glass of wine to drink to your approach- 
ing nuptials. As you were lifting it to your lips, your 
favourite spaniel leaped upon your arm and dashed it 
on the floor ; in a sudden transport of passion, you 
struck the creature with violence, and laid it dead at 
your feet. It was the saving moment of your life : 
the wine was poisoned, inevitable death was in the 
draught, and the animal you killed was God's instru- 
ment for preserving you ; reflect upon the event, sub- 
due your passions, and practice resignation. Father, 
I have no more to confess : I die repentant : Let the 
executioner do his office." 



THE IMPRESSED SEAMAN. 

When smiling peace shall again drop her olive 
branch, and impending war call upon the nation to 
tnnn its ships, ah ! may that purpose be effected with- 
out piercing the feeling bosom by the cruel means 
taken to supply them ! Certainly there are heads to 
jilan, and hearts to adopt measures that would pre- 
vent the mother's wail, and the widow's tear. Now, 
i»' ivlien so many individuals are going about, seeking 
cverj means to do good ; now, when the gloom of 
adversity Is cheered by the noble efforts of the sons 
and dauglilersof humanity: now is the glorious mo- 



131 

raeiit for those in power, during the smiling season oi" 
peace, to unite together, in order to prevent, if possi- 
ble, the horrors of war being felt, even before the 
thunder begins to roar from the deck of honour, or 
the sword of the intrepid soldier is impurpled with 
the blood of his enemy. 

The folio win 2: relation is addressed to those who 
will not turn away from a tale of domestic wo — Alas ! 
its foundation is fixed on truth ! The unhappy family, 
consisting of a father, mother, and daughter, whose 
sufferings form the substance of these eventful pages, 
once existed ! Innocence and domestic peace blessed 
their humble dwelling, nor were their comforts broke 
in upon, until the cruel policy of their own nation se- 
])arated, without even a warning given, the husband 
from his wife and child — In one moment, without a 
crime to sanctify the deed, he was torn a^^ ay by pri- 
vileged ruffians — and his partner and his babe were 
left a prey to those evils which are sure to surround 
the unprotected daughters of misery. 

In the memorable year 1759, Henry Randolph, a 
youth of about eighteen, entered on board a ship of 
war, in the hope of signalizing himself, by his valour, 
in the defence of his country. Henry, at a very early 
period, had lost his parents, who left him to the care 
of an uncle, whose employment was that of a pawn- 
broker, which by no means suited with the feeling 
heart and generous disposition of his nephew ; and 
was the cause of frequent disputes between him 
and his kinsman. One day in particular, a poor 
\voman, with a child in lier nrms, entered tlie shop. 



132 

with an old coat, the onljone belongiiig to a distress- 
ed husband, at that time afflicted with a fever, and 
requested a trifle on it, to purt^hase something that 
had been ordered to relieve his complaint. The 
youth, shocked at the scanty petition beirig refused, 
stole round to the door,'and as the poor creature came 
to it, put a shilling into her hand, which was all the 
pocket money he had; promising, at the same time, 
to devote his allowance from his uncle to the aid of 
her family, till released from the pressure of sickness. 
The fervent " heaven bless your goodness !" reached 
the ear of his uncle, w^ho having no idea of what pity 
and compassion meant, at once informed his nephew, 
that as he could so readily relieve others, he might 
in future see who would relieve himself: for, from 
that moment his door should be shut against an un- 
dutiful boy, who had dared to act against the inclina- 
t^ion of those who had kept him from beggary. Thus 
dismissed by his unfeeling kinsman, who, notwith- 
standing his cutting observation, had been a consi- 
derable gainer by the death of his brother, Henry, 
with no earthly tie to prevent him, formed a resolu- 
tion of throwing himself upon the chance of war. 
A solitary guinea w^as all his unprincipled relation 
gave him on his departure. The poor woman was 
nevertheless remembered, to w}iom he directly hasten- 
ed, and to whose distresses he bestowed a part of 
the little in his possession. 

Embarked in a glorious cause, and possessed of 
that firmness of mind which bids defiance to dangers, 
Henry looked forward to the hour of en2:n2:emcnt. 



^U^"^ 



133 

and anticipated the glory of victory. Poor yonih. 
Tinaware that those unblessed with rank or fortune 
will never be rewarded according to their merit. 
But fatal experience at lengtli brought home to hif^ 
disappointed breast the fallacy of building on bravery 
or worth. He fought — he conquered — and well me- 
lited the name of a brave seaman ; yet, notwith- 
standing the wounds of honour, and the claims of 
dangerous services, from a nation w^ho owed him 
much, at the conclusion of the war he had the morti- 
fication of finding himself discharged, neglected, 
moneyless, and friendless !' His uncle, during his ab- 
sence, had paid the debt of nature. The old man had 
been detected in dishonest practices, W'hich had 
caused his utter ruin ; and he dijed of a broken heart 
in the work-house of the parish to which he belong- 
ed. Previous to his departure from the British shores, 
Henry cherished an affection for the blooming Nancy 
Abbot, who being likewise left an orphan, w hile but 
a child, the neighbours of her departed parents, who 
had lived with credit, though unblessed with fortune, 
took pity on her helpless innocence, and raised a su))- 
scription among themselves to procure her beard, 
clothing, and education. Their benevolence was not 
extended to the unworthy *, the little Nancy, virtuous^ 
amiable, and thankful, proved the delight and pride 
of her friends ; who, when she had attained her 
eighteenth year, assisted her in establishing a day 
school, for which, by her good qualities, she was so 
well suited. In a little time, the products of her em- 
ployment not only yielded her a comfortable subsist- 



M.' 



154 

encG, but she was likewise enabled to lay bj a sum 
for the hour of emergency, should sucli an hour ever 
arrive. 

Unlike the world, which is ever prone to shrink 
from the unfortunale, the Henry of Nancy Abbot re- 
turned to enrapture her heart, which was a stranger to 
false refinement, and too honest to diguise its feelings. 

Henry was still in possession of every manly senti- 
ment, unwarped by the ingratitude of others, which 
had before wan upon and secured her regard and affec- 
tion. With such a strong incitement to virtue as the 
chaste ejidearments of his beloved Nancy, whose in- 
dustry had triumphed over want, and secured the good 
wishes and commendation of her numerous friends, 
and whose beauty and innocence exceeded the rich- 
ness of any other dovver, Henry still smiled upon his 
fate, nor wished it altered. 

It is natural to suppose he lost no time in urging 
her to become his. The persuasions of the man she 
loved, towards a unity of their fortunes, were not long 
resisted ; and they very soon confirmed, at the sacred 
altar, those vows which, no doubt, heaven had smiled 
upon, and virtue had approved. 

Henry, possessed of strong natural parts, assisted 
by a common education, and bearing a mind fraught 
with principles which revolted at the idea of idleness ; 
and, moreover, too independent to think of subsisting, 
even by means of the dearest object of his affection, 
and partner of his future days, while health and means 
of application for employment were not withheld, 
30on procured himself an engagement as a porter in 



135 

/lie wareliouse oi' a wealthj trader in the city, who, 
pleased with the fidelity of his domestic, very soon 
procured another under him, by which means his 
situation became easy and profitable. 

There is a commendable pride, which eveiy man 
ought to encoura^^e — the pride which preserves him 
from subjecting himself to needless obligations, as long 
as his own efforts prove sufficient to yield those sup- 
plies his situation in life demands. 

About a twelvemonth after their marriage, the amia- 
ble Nancy presented to the arms of her Henry a smi- 
ling cherub. To visit the mother and the little stran- 
ger became the first attention of the fond father, on 
his return from his daily employment. Enraptured 
would he hang over the pillow which gave rest to its 
lovely cheek, and trace in his sleeping babe the 
features of his beloved ; then, with clasped hands, 
and eyes raised to Heaven, would he look up with 
thankfulness to that Power w"ho ha,d thus enriched 
him. 

Thus comforted with mutual felicity, year after 
year passed on in a series of calm and uninterrupted 
content ; while their Harriet grew up the darling of 
her parents, and the admiration of their friendSj until 
her thirteenth year closed upon that happiness which 
was fated never to return ! Farewell now to innocence 
and tranquillity ! The cup of wo was filled, and they 
were condemned to swallow^ the drausrht of bitternes^f. 

It had been a custom with Henry to celebrate the 
anniversary of the accession of his monarch to the 
British throne, and on the evening of October 25^ 



136 

1778, this happy ikmilj were ioiioceiiti/ engaged 
among themselves. Harriet had been indulged with 
the company of a neighbour's daughter about her own 
age, and the two young folks were taken up in those 
little amusements which enliven the sportive and 
blissful hours of health and youth, when a loud rap at 
the door made them start from their seats, and an im- 
mediate repetition aroused their apprehension, which 
Henry perceiving, he told them to fear no harm, as 
heaven would guard the innocent ; and instantly re- 
paired to learn the cause of so rude an alarm. 

Picture, ye who can picture distress and agony, at 
that sad moment when misery mocks the powers of 
description, the feelings of Henry, when, on opening 
the door, he found himself surrounded by a press- 
gang ! Instantly they seized upon their defenceless 
prey, notwithstanding the bitter cries of his wife, the 
little Harriet and her companion, hurried him away 
from a home, of peace and comfort, which no self-re- 
proaches had ever embittered. In vain did he entreat 
for a little time to reconcile his Nancy to the bitter- 
ness of her fate ; strangers to humanity, and authori- 
zed by the cruel custom of their country, it did not 
belong to the horrid business of these protected plun- 
derers to attend to the waihngs of the wife and child. 
The husband, the father, had become theirs, and no 
other idea than that of instantly conveying him away 
employed their thoughts. 

Denied the mournful privilege of even a parting 
embrace, Henry could only look back on the convul- 
sions of his wife, and hear the screams of his child, 



137 

without the power of assisting the one, or comfortin;^ 
the other. He was soon hiimed to the tender, in the 
unwholesome confines of which he remained till the 
vessel dropped down to the Nore, where this miser?.- 
ble and undone wretch w^as put on board a man cf 
w^ar, which had received sailing orders, and immedi- 
ately departed on its destined expedition. 

The afflictions of Henry were still further embit- 
tered hy the cruel treatment he experienced from his 
commander, who, wanting a mind to discriminate be- 
tween sorrow and sullenness, was continually charg- 
ing him with neglect and inattention. The affliction"^- 
of the soul had so weakened his constitution as to ren- 
der him unable for a time to attend to the imposed 
duties of his miserable station ; a little indulgence 
was therefore requested, till he should be recovered 
from an illness that at that time endangered an 
existence which it was his duty, notwithstanding 
his sufferings, to endeavour to preserve ;• intelligence 
of his incapacity was therefore conveyed to his cap- 
tain, who, to the disgrace of manhood, after severely 
accusing him of idleness and artifice, commanded 
punishment as a cure for an emaciated frame and al- 
most breaking heart. Pause, ye who have shed your 
tears for the fate of the enslaved African, and drop 
one here for Henry. Slavery, with all its supposed 
and real ills, may truly be deemed sunshine to the 
colour of his fate ! 

The cruel orders of his commander w^ere obeyed, 
and the disgrace of public discipline bore hard upon 
the spirit of Randolph : and hard it ever must bear on 



the spirits of those who are thus made slaves, hi order 
lliat they may fight for British freedom ! 

And now the fatal moment arrived, when the recti- 
tude of his mind began to waver. Disgrace, unmerit- 
ed, had effected more than misery ; the standard of 
honour had been shaken ; and, but for this last disho- 
nour, he had prepared his mind to meet his country's 
foe as a Briton ought, notwithstanding his private 
griefs, which he had hoped to medicine by valour, 
victory, and reward. 

The expectation of a christian and a man had just 
began to cheer his bosom ; he trusted Providence 
would protect his Nancy and his Harriet till it should 
again restore him to their embraces. Dawnings of 
comfort, how were ye overcast ! Blossoms of hope, 
how^ were ye blasted ! Spirit of a Briton, how were 
you debased! On the seas of Britannia the throne 
of slavery was established, and her own sons crushed 
by the cruelty of unfeeling power. 

The first departure from that irreproachable con- 
duct he had preserved through life did not fail to af- 
fect him much on recollection. In the bitterness of 
his grief he had accused heaven of injustice, while 
the profligacy of those around him had poisoned his 
principles. One of his shipmates had found out a way 
to purloin liquor from the purser's stores, and had 
made Randolph acquainted with the scheme, advis- 
ing him,, at the same time, to follow the example. At 
first, the unha|)py Randolph started at the idea of 
theft, but when its criminality was softened dow^n by 
the sophistry of false argument, he listened and be- 
came guilty. 

t 



139 

It was not long before his practices were discovered, 
and he was condemned to be hand-culled and chain- 
ed by the leg on the forecastle, where he was kept on 
short allowance. The petrifying powei*s of accumu- 
lated disgrace at length hardened his heart against 
the sense of shame ; it had been rendered hopeless 
by the cruelties of his countrymen, and he soon 
became reconciled to the Hebrew mode of requiting 
evil with evil. In a short time there was a demand 
made on his courage by the hour of action and of 
danger: giving, therefore, one sigh to the remem- 
brance of those of innocence and peace, he rushed 
forward on the deck, but not to his death ; his trials 
vv^ere not yet over, and the severity of his destiny 
was yet unfilled ! Victory fell to the lot of the enemy, 
and Randolph was conveyed, with others who sur- 
vived the desperate action, by numbers three times 
superior to their own, to a loathsome prison, where 
they remained till the conclusion of the war ; then 
they were released, but their enlargement procured 
them only an exchange of misery ; they were oblig- 
ed to apply to a magistrate for certificates ; and, un- 
housed, unfriended, were compelled to beg bread 
through realms their valour had contributed to save. 

Randolph, once more on his native shore, applied 
to his captain for a certificate of his services, who 
readily recognised him, and it was granted; he, there- 
fore, made application to the proper office of the 
navy to receive his wages, upon which the clerk, 
turning over his books, informed him that his wages 
hfid been already paid to a person who produced, 



140 

what now appeared to be, a forged will and power ; 
of course he must remain with his claims unsatisfied 
until he could take the proper steps for obtaining 
redress. This stroke, heavy as it fell, did not, how- 
ever, entirely overcome him. Emaciated with want, 
anxiety, and fatigue, but more by those misgivings of 
the mind, respecting the fate of those he loved, and 
from whom he had been so long separated, he pro- 
ceeded, a poor beggar, with trembling steps, towards 
the mansion where he had left his wife and child. 
Unhappy man ! he knocked at the door, but strangers 
opened it. Mrs. Nevill, the person who then kept 
the school, informed him that all the neighbourhood 
had kindly administered to Mrs. Randolph's relief, 
but her afflictions becoming too powerful for her mind, 
in the course of a few months, bereft of reason, she 
gave up that being whose existence had been thus 
embittered by the cruelties of war, falling a martyr 
to enormities which the very laws of her own nation 
consider as such. 

This shameful truth is what gives strength to the 
pleadings of humanity against a practice which every 
honest and good heart must condemn. If hints may 
be of use to preserve the honest and industrious to 
their wives and children, and pluck the daring and 
unprincipled from desperate lives and shameful ends ; 
wretches who, estranged from every domestic and 
moral tie, prey upon the land, and destroy the repose 
of others; let those whom it may concern, by in- 
quiry, learn that as soon as the day closes, it is unsafe 
for our citizens to venture from their houses; for, 



141 

even iti the Strand, that grand tlioroughfare of the 
first city in the world, nightly banditti assemble in 
formidable parties; and, in the open street, as in the 
sequestered wood, fearless of control, plunder the 
most manly in the sight of passengers who dare not. 
interfere! Shame on those who will not listen to 
the means of redress, when they are invested with 
power to put them in practice. Those who have 
feeling will pardon the writer for wandering from his 
narrative into reflections to which it has led him ; the 
candid and judging, he trusts, are well aware of his 
motive, and will suffer that to plead his excuse. The 
spirit broken Randolph, after a heartfelt groan for the 
death of his wife, ventured to ask for Harriet. " Name 
her not !" replied Mrs. Nevill, " she w^as a bad girl, 
and unworthy your attention." " Oh !" continued 
Henry, " do not rack me thus ! say she is dead, and 
I will strive to bear the dreadful intelligence ! But 
pity, O pity my poor brain! My lost wife was 
virtuous and good; O say not her child has been 
otherwise.'' 

Mrs. Nevill, who was an advocate for justice, with- 
out mercy, perceiving the state of his mind, with a 
look of great sagacity, observed, " that it was needless 
to mince the matter, that every good parent was not 
blessed with good children, and that it was partly 
owing to sparing the rod while they were young* 
A lady at Richmond," continued this prudent teacher, 
" took your daughter as a companion, and foolishly 
indulged her love for music and reading ; the conse- 
qucnces was, that in the course of a few months. 



142 

Harriet tiioiight proper to run avv^av from her protec- 
tress, who has never heard of her since. You know 
your daughter appeared some years older than she 
really was ; it is no doubt her beauty attracted re- 
gard ; several gay young fellows visited at the house, 
and it may naturally be supposed the villain was 
among them who allured her from such a heedless 
and improper guardian." Randolph could hear no 
more ; he stamped on the ground, and beat his ach- 
ing head. *> At length, after a pause, he looked on his 
intelligencer, perceived her spirit, and left her. He 
immediately repaired to Richmond, but there his 
griefs were rendered still more poignant : arriving at 
that mansion, belonging to the former protectress of 
his ruined and lost child, the servant took in his name, 
but quickly returned with orders for him to depart 
instantly from the door, as his lady had nothing to 
&ay to him. Alas, hapless parent ! thou wert desti- 
tute of money, and no doubt the unfeeling domestic 
had given his own account of thy miserable appear- 
ance, picturing thy countenance, rendered pale and 
squalid from an almost breaking heart, as that of a 
wretch deeply dyed in the mysteries of villany. 
Thus repulsed, comfortless, a stranger in the wide 
w orld, w ithout a single hope to console him, he de- 
termined to apply to his former master for some rehef 
to his sufferings ; but even this hope was frustrated. 
Disappointments in payments from abroad, aggra- 
vated by many severe losses at home, having created 
much uneasiness in the mind of Mr. Cartwright, he 
had given up all his connexions, and retired into a 
remote part of Wales. 



143 

Destitute of the means to procure a change in his 
appearance, which bespoke the extreme of wretched- 
ness, exckided every hope of getting employment, 
nothing was left for the miserable Randolph but beg- 
gary ! For some days he placed himself in different 
parts of London : but the aid of passengers was very 
small. He determined, therefore, to see if he could 
experience more humanity without the town than h^ 
had found within it, and had wandered on as far as 
Hampstead. It was the close of autumn ; qight made 
its swift approaches, accompanied with rain and a 
chilling wind. He had got upon the heath, where he 
was suffering cold, hunger, and fatigue. In this evil 
moment of want and desperation, he heard the sound 
of a carriage upon the road, and approached the per- 
son who was placed in it, in order to supplicate relief; 
but seeing only a lady, he resolved to change his sup- 
plication into a demand, which procured him a few 
guineas, and the offer of a watch, but that he refused, 
and told the driver, who was but a lad, to proceed. 
He then quitted the road, and speedily found himself 
pursued by two horsemen. Finding swiftness and re- 
sistance of no avail, he surrendered himself. The ladr 
proved to be a woman of fashion, and was coming to 
town for the winter season : her servants, at the mo- 
ment of tbe robbery, happened to be too far behind 
to prevent it, but in a few minutes came up, when 
they were informed of the circumstance ; on which 
two of them, following the directions of the postboy, 
who had marked Randolph's course, rode off, and 
look him a6 related. 



144 

It would prove a painful and unpleasing task to 
dwell on this part of Randolph's mournful history. It 
is sufficient to inform the reader that he underwent 
imprisonment, and a trial, which doomed him to an 
ignominious death. Circumstances, however, having 
been represented as favourable as possible, and this 
being his first oifence, he was recommended to mer- 
cj, and obtained the king's free pardon. On his en- 
largement he found his miseries as great as ever, and 
he knew not where to turn for the support of life ; 
when happening to meet a fellow shipmate, who 
was, at that time, in good circumstances, owing to 
the death of an uncle, who had left him a farm in the 
country ; the generous tar heard with candour the re- 
lation of Randolph's sufferings, pitied his sorrows, and 
pardoned his guilt. Jlr. Wilkins was then going down 
to his farm, about one hundred miles oif; and told 
Randolph, that if he chose to exchange want for 
plenty, and approved of a removal from a spot he had 
so little cause to be attached to, there was a house at 
his service, where he might, if he pleased, spend the 
remainder of his days. " Come, my boy !" conti- 
nued Wilkins, "you were young when I first kncAV 
you, but I liked your spirit. I have ploughed the 
sea, and am now going to plough the land. Thank 
heaven ! I am not a novice as to the management of 
a farm, having spent fifteen years of my life with this 
very kinsman, who, bless his soul ! has been so good 
to me, and I would never have left him, had not I, 
like an ungrateful young' dog, quarrelled with my 
bread and butter, and left him in a huff; but no mat 



145 

ter, I have a bit of the bridle, and after all, have met 
with goodness when I had no right to expect it. But 
it has given me a heart to feel for a fellow creature, 
much more a fellow sufferer and old shipmate. 

Thus providentially preserved from threatening 
evils, Randolph, with grateful sensations, embraced 
the offer of his friend. They departed from London 
in a few days, but not before Randolph found himself 
clothed, and in possession of money. Wilkins was 
not very rich in that quality which the world is fond 
of distinguishing under the term refinement ; he had 
not a tear to shed for every trifle, but he possessed a 
heart ready to burst on the relation of human misery ; 
a heart which prompted him to relieve with delicacy, 
and wherever his obligations fell, to let them fall as 
light as possible on those who experienced his bounty. 

The two friends soon arrived at this humble though 
neat mansion of rural felicity and domestic peace. 
The daughter of Wilkins ran to embrace her parent; 
she was a blooming girl, and her countenance was 
that of innocence. Randolph looked upon her, and 
at the happy father, by turns, and then, with a deep 
sigh, fell senseless to the ground I Nature, who had 
formed the heart of Wilkins, was his only prompter on 
this melancholy occasion ; he sent his daughter away, 
and suffered not his wife to administer. In a little 
time Randolph recovered, and clasping his hands, ex- 
claimed, " O, my lost Harriot!" then turning to Wil- 
kins, he continued, " pardon the unhappy man who 
dares to envy his benefactor ; but 1 will yet look 
up; I once, mv friend, was blessed with a daughter 

19 



146 

lovely as your own, ai>d now, I trust, a saint in hea- 
ven ! I have been led by misery into guilt, but live 
to own the mercies of a protecting God! My poor 
child too, has erred ; but that Being, who permitted 
her to behold a wretched father torn from her infant 
arms, and a desperate mother expire in madness, has, 
no doubt, taken their wretched offspring to himself." 
Wilkins, in return to this affecting address, looked far 
more than he could utter. At length , clapping his 
guest gently on the shoulder, he exclaimed, " Poor 
fellow! in this harbour rest secure; the blasts of 
misfortune have borne hard upon thee ; but now the 
storm is over do not let your spirits be cast down ; 
I am a rough seaman, my actions must comfort you 
more than my words, for there 1 fall short. But 
come, let me lead you to my good dame, and per- 
haps her conversation will cheer you ; a good heart 
like her's will ever be a glad one ; she has taught me 
to honour religion, and but for her, I should never 
have been what I am, nor ever have known the 
happiness I have felt in performing my duty as a 
christian. 

Randolph experienced in the society of Mrs. Wil- 
kins the truth of the above observation ; her man- 
ners were mild, and her heart was guided by the 
pure precepts contained in that volume which ad- 
ministers comfort to all who seriously turn to its 
sacred pages. 

From the same source Randolph procured balm 
for his distempered mind, and deeply felt how much 
he was indebted to a preserving providence. 



147 

Two years had elapsed, when Wilkins having some 
business to transact, which would keep him from his 
family about a week, at the distance of near fifty 
miles from their dwelling, he proposed that his friend 
should bear him company, in hopes that change of air 
might remove a severe indisposition under which 
Randolph had laboured for some months, and which 
threatened a decline. 

The offer was accepted, and they set off on theii' 
journey ; but when they had got within ^ve miles of 
the place they were going to, a sudden and violent 
illness obhged Randolph to stop at an inn on the 
road ; and finding himself unable to proceed, he de- 
sired to be left there until Wilkins should return. 

As the business which had caused the journey was 
urgent, Wilkins left, though unwiUingly, his sick com- 
panion, with a strict charge to the master of the ina 
to procure every assistance his malady required. 

Randolph was immediately put to bed, and no at- 
tention was spared on the part of the people of the 
house. A medicine, w^hich had been ordered on his 
going to rest, performed its part so happily as to 
enable him to rise the next day. Towards the even- 
ing, which was remarkably fine, he imagined himself 
so far recovered as to be able to w alk out. 

He proceeded about a mile ; a beautiful setting 
sun enriched the appearance of every surrounding 
object, and tempted him to extend his walk still far- 
ther, when he was seized with a sudden delirium, 
and sunk to the ground. Fortunately two servants, 
who belonged to a Lady Middleton, whose seat Avas 



148 

situated near the spot, were at that moment passing 
by, and ran to his assistance ; but poor Randolph was 
unable to answer the inquiries they made ; on which, 
with great humanity, they bore the unhappy man be- 
tween them to her ladyship's mansion, where every 
aid his situation required was extended towards him. 
Recovering by degrees, he looked around him ; 
then fixing his eyes on Doctor Spencer, her ladyship's 
physician, " Tell me, worthy sir," said Randolph, 
" to whom I am indebted for the preservation of a 
life which has been marked by varied miseries, yet 
prolonged by heavenly mercy." Doctor Spencer, 
perceiving the mind of his patient greatly agitated, 
told him to compose himself, that he would see him 
once more that evening, and again in the morning. 
" It is enough, my good sir," continued the worthy 
man, "at present, to know that you are among 
friends. Lady Middleton, who owns this seat, is at 
this time engaged with her attorney, on some busi- 
ness of consequence, respecting the affairs of Sir 
Charles Middleton. Alas ! sir, a few months ago, all 
was happiness and serenity in this now mournful 
mansion ; but death hath robbed it of its master, and 
heaven knows how much, and with what reason, all 
within it have mourned their irreparable loss ! but more 
of this in the morning, when I hope to find you able 
to converse with me. I am a man, sir, who has had 
misfortunes, which have led me strongly to feel for 
human afEictions." Upon this, he withdrew ; and 
Randolph, laying his head upon his pillow, fell into a 
gentle slumber. 



149 

The next morning, Doctor Spencer revisited his 
patient, and found him perfectly sensible, though ex- 
tremely low. The good old man, seating himself by 
the bedside, after feeling the pnlse of Randolph, thus 
seriously addressed him : " Tell me, my dear friend, 
if you are connected with any one whom you are 
anxious to see. Do not be alarmed, but your illness 
is of such a nature as to mix along with my hopes a 
degree of doubt ; therefore, ill could I answer it to 
my conscience, if I told you there was no occasion to 
provide for the worst that may happen.^' Randolph, 
clasping Doctor Spencer's hand, exclaimed with great 
energy, " Blessed intelhgence ! O sir ! I have had 
connexions, from whom being rudely torn, misery 
and want have made me guilty of crimes. The for- 
mer are gone where I trust I shall meet them ; and 
the latter, through the atonement which I have flown 
to, I am sure are forgiven." 

He then went through the whole of his unhappy 
history, which was heard, by the person to whom it 
w^as told, with candour and humanity. Doctor Spen- 
cer then prevailed on Randolph to be as calm as pos- 
sible, and undertook to inform the family of Vvilkins 
of every circumstance necessary for them to know^ ; 
and likewise to leave a letter for him, on his return to 
the inn where he had left his friend. But alas ! all 
was needless, for before the light closed upon that 
day, Randolph w^as dismissed from all his sufferings. 

Doctor Spencer immediately waited on Lady Mid- 
dleton, with intelligence of every thing that had been 
done ; but when he came to Randolph's eventful 



150 

story, his hearer gave a loud convulsive scream, and 
dropped senseless from her chair. Doctor Spencer 
had the presence of mind not to alarm the family, and 
in a little time her ladyship revived ; when casting 
her eyes wildly around the room, she exclaimed, 
" Where is he ! where is my father ?" " Your father ?" 
rejoined Doctor Spencer; "Yes, my father; reply 
not, but bear me to him." 

Doctor Spencer was scarely able to support the 
petrifying eifects of this discovery ; at length, ad- 
vancing to Lady Middleton, with a collected look and 
steady manner, he thus addressed her : 

" Madam, permit an old man to advise you how to 
act on this occasion, which requires the exertion of 
all your resolution : if you mean to save your parent, 
you must restrain your impatience. Pardon me, ma- 
dam, for this boldness ; and let my age, and my af- 
fection for you and yours, cover me from your re- 
sentment. I will go instantly to your restored pa- 
rent, and as soon as possible prepare his mind to 
receive you." Without waiting a reply, he returned 
to his patient's chamber, requested his attention, and 
thus addressed him : " Your destiny, Mr. Randolph, 
has been indeed severe ; but, notwithstanding the 
bitter evils you have endured, reflection on the past 
must bring back to your mind certain blessings, the 
recollection of which, no doubt, fill your heart with 
thankfulness, for have you not been an object of 
heaven's peculiar mercy !" The attentive Randolph 
expressed his sense of the justness of the observation ; 
and Doctor Spencer proceeded: "and that mercy, my 



151 

dear friend, is not yet exhausted. It is yet in my 
power, through the means of a mysterious Provi- 
dence, dto comfort you even beyond your hopes : re- 
ceive then my intelUgence with cahnness and thank- 
fulness. You have a good and innocent child yet 
living ; and who, in a little time, can be brought 
hither to receive her father's blessing." 

The venerable Spencer waited for Randolph's re- 
ply, who clasping his hands together, held them up 
for a time in silent adoration, while his countenance 
wore a smile expressive of an inward satisfaction. 
He then turned to his worthy friend, saying, " It may 
seem strange to you, sir, that a heart which ought to 
bound with ecstacy should yet be broken : I am sen- 
sible that I have not many hours to live ; but, that 
heaven should sw^eeten those hours with such an ear- 
nest of future bliss, exceeds all human compreheu* 
sion." 

Doctor Spencer, though much afflicted in knowing 
himself that Randolph's last hour was swiftly comings 
on, yet repressing his emotions, went to the apart- 
ment of Lady Middleton with a cheerful aspect, and 
approaching her with a tender respect, said, " comc. 
my dear child, your parent is now prepared to see you : 
but do not be alarmed at beholding him pale and 
very low : it is the duty of good hearts like yours to 
bear with submission to the decrees of providence : 
I have reason to imagine, my worthy lady, that you 
and I must very shortly mourn his loss : but, consider, 
my daughter, for I know he will leave you to my care, 
1^^ shall indeeiil have occasion tq momo, but not like 



152 

those vvlio have no hope. L^t us then be careful^ 
lest in ihdulgmg our grief too far, we become ungrate- 
ful to that power whose mercies w^e have gfe richly 
experienced. At my request, your father has com- 
posed himself to sleep ; in the mean time I told him 
1 would hasten and bring you to his arms. He may 
perhaps become inquisitive concerning your story : I 
think it needful, therefore, to be indulged with so 
much of it as you think proper to disclose, in order to 
remove from yourself a task which may prove rather 
severe." " Kind and generous sir," replied the weep- 
ing Lady Middleton, '' your protection will prove my 
blessing, and your receiving me as a child, will com- 
fort a heart which has ever revered your principles. 
Receive, in a few words, my unhappy story, and then 
lead me to the restored parent, whom I am prepared 
to give up to that heaven, w^here, I trust, sir, you and 
I shall shortly join him." 

Lady Middleton then recounted what the reader is 
already acquainted with; we shall, therefore, only 
pursue the relation from her situation with her Rich- 
mond friend. 

" In this gay family I experienced every indulgence 
that gives pleasure to young minds : I was taught 
every polite accomplishment, and moved in a conti- 
nual round of amusement ; but my heart revolted at 
joy, for my parents were ever present in my mind. 
Among the young gentlemen that visited at the house, 
Sir Charles Middleton was the most accomplished, 
and was just come to the possession of his estate. 
From the first moment that I beheld him, I felt a par- 



163 

liality in his favour : we soon became dear to each 
other. He Hkevvise was an orphan ; and often did 
we mingle our tears together. He won upon me to 
consent to a private marriage, which he represented 
as absolutely necessary, at least for a time, as his un- 
cle, who had no children, had declared he would leave 
his estate to strangers, if his nephew did not marry 
into a family of rank and title. My love was too great 
to object to his desire in this particular ; and, unknown 
to the family, depending on his honour, which never 
knew a stain, and on that worth which never will again 
be equalled, I came wdth him to this mansion, where 
we were united by the most sacred ties. Oh ! Doctor 
Spencer, you know the rest ; you know that his gene- 
rous heart, too delicate to call me his in private, panted 
only for my honour and my peace : you soothed his 
wounded spirit, on the cruel treatment he received 
from his unfeeling uncle, on the discovery of our mar- 
riage ; and you watched him during the course of that 
fever which took him from my widowed arms. But 
come, sir, I am now collected ; lead me to my honour- 
ed father, and let me receive that blessing, which you 
have given me cause to fear will not often be repeat- 
ed." Doctor Spencer bowed, and led her to the 
chamber. On entering, they found Randolph still in 
a slumber, but it was broken wiili sighs. In a little 
time he awoke ; Doctor Spencer, advancing to the 
bedside, took hold of his hand, and requested his at- 
tention to a short recital of his Harriet's history, from 
the time he left her : on hearing which, Randolph 
exclaimed. "Blessed, and ^ver blessed Providence! 

20 



154 

my thankful soul bends to thy decrees ; let me but 
see my child once again, and I shall be contented." 
On this, supported between two attendants. Lady 
Middieton advanced, and kneeling down, felt the 
hands of her father resting upon her head : then 
rising, she threw her arms around him in speechless 
agony. Doctor Spencer was too much moved to ut- 
ter a word ; but looking for a time on the aifecting 
scene, his heart became too full for his strength, and 
he sunk down on a chair and w^ept aloud. At length, 
recollecting himself, he again struggled with his feel- 
ings, and advanced to the bed, where he beheld La- 
dy Middieton still embracing her father, with a wild- 
ness which alarmed him. On raising her up, she ut- 
tered a long and deep sigh, and fainted in the arms of 
the attendants, as they were conveying her from the 
lifeless corpse of her parent, who had just lived to 
breathe out his departing spirit in the arms of a 
child he had for along time considered as lost. 

Doctor Spencer, after giving proper directions con- 
cerning the lifeless body, notwithstanding the depres- 
sion of his own spirits, hastened to support those of 
Lady Middieton, whose religion forbidding her to de- 
spair, he found in the attitude of prayer, and audibly 
addressing that power whose mercy extends to all 
those who call upon him. The sight comforted his 
heart, and he withdrew unobserved to the adjoining 
chamber, where he could distinctly hear the pious 
ejaculation delivered from lips that had been early 
taught to express dictates of innocence, from which 
her gentle spirit had. never swerved. The daughter 



155 

of Randolph knew no guile ; and she possessed, in a 
very great degree, those softer charms which render 
her sex truly amiable. 

But however resigned, Lady Middleton still found 
herself unequal to the task of combating with her ac- 
cumulated and severe afflictions ; and Doctor Spencer 
observed, with inward regret, that although her griefs 
were silent, they were yet deeply rooted in a heart too 
amiable to reconcile it quickly to the loss of parents 
who had thus fallen the victims of misery, and a hus- 
band, in whose love and attention alone she had hoped 
to experience comfort. The melancholy satisfaction 
of dwelling on the remembrance of those we have 
loved and honoured, is an enjoyment known only to 
the possessors of true refinement and pure sensibility. 
Lady Middleton had bestowed her affections on an 
orphan, as she then imagined herself, and who, like 
herself, had cherished in his bosom the strong and 
dear recollection of his departed parents. 

Wilkins having completed his business, returned to 
the inn where he had left his friend. His surprise 
may easily be imagined on receiving the letter which 
had been left for him. Its contents induced him im- 
mediately to hasten to Lady Middleton, to whom he 
was introduced by Doctor Spencer. Without reserve, 
the child of Randolph embraced the honest and deeply 
affected seaman, whom she considered as an instru- 
ment in the hand of Providence in preserving her la- 
mented parent from impending misery. Wilkins 
could only sob out, '• Be comforted, my dear child: I 
loved thy father from the first moment I saw hira. 



156 

He was then a fine stripling, and possessed the heart 
of a Hon : but heaven and himself onlj have know^n 
how it. has been since broken down by the storms of 
adversity. Well, well, there is a great deal of injustice 
in the world, and my departed brother seaman has 
come in for his full share of it. But, as my dame 
says, the keen edge of heaven's just vengeance is ne- 
ver suffered to rust, and reflection will come home to 
the cruel-minded." The effusions of the honest heart 
of this generous sailor conveyed consolation to the af- 
flictions he endeavoured thus to relieve ; and Lady 
Middleton experienced every comfort she was capa- 
ble of receiving in the society of the tender, humane, 
and refined Spencer, and the honest, manly, and feel- 
ing Wilkins. 

A few weeks passed on, during which Lady Middle- 
ton employed herself in settling her worldly concerns, 
in which she nobly paid back the debt of gratitude to 
those who had so richly merited every thing she had 
to bestow. 

The task performed, her thoughts were wholly 
turned to the vast concerns of an immortal state, to 
which she knew she was hastening, and which she had 
ever happily considered was not to be left to the mercy 
of a moment. The friendly warning of her release 
from life at length arrived, and perceiving the trem- 
bling tear glisten in the eye of Wilkins, on being sum- 
moned to take his farewell, the child of Randolph, for 
the last time, kissed the hand of her father's friend, 
and thus delivered the acknowledgments of a heart 
that deeply felt its obligations : " Honoured friend of 



157 

my departed paient, whose released spirit is now be- 
yond the reach of human misery, bless me, ere I die, 
as that parent would himself have done, were h^ now 
leaning, like you, in tears and agony, over the death- 
bed of his suffering child. Words are too weak to 
express my gratitude, my esteem; and oh, suffer me 
to add, my affection." 

After a pause, she requested Doctor Spencer to at- 
tend to the last words she should probably utter. " I 
feel, my w orthy sir," she continued, " that your poor 
orphan has not long to remember the loss of those 
from whom she may say she has been bereft by the 
cruel policy of the land from which she is departing. 
I have considered the first cause of all my sufferings, 
and in that cruel policy I find them to have originated. 
Unfeeling men tore my poor father from me, and I 
now again behold his anguish — again behold the con- 
vulsions of my distracted mother, and again experi- 
ence that void in my own heart, which has never since 
been filled up. I am fully sensible that it will not be 
long before I meet them in that heaven where injus- 
tice will never again separate them from me. In the 
course of a few years, that death should mark the un- 
fortunate, and claim them as his own, is not for you 
or me to regret ; for when and where could they have 
hoped for peace or comfort ! To the heart-stricken and 
deserted, the source of all earthly good is dried up, 
and the grave is ever a friend to the weary and heavy 
laden, who Avish to lay down the burden of persecuted 
existence. A great part of my worldly possessions, 
^hich are considerable, I have, by will, bequeathed to 



168 

yourself; the conduct of my lamented husband's fa- 
mily to him and me has rendered it even unfit for me 
to remember the proud in spirit, and by that means 
increase the folly of human consequence, and add 
riches to the rich. I am sensible your goodness will 
ev er be prompting you to acts of mercy and occasional 
munificence. Perhaps some future Randolph may 
call forth your pitying tear. Perhaps some deserted 
mother may plead at your heart, as at heaven's gate, 
for mercy. Comfort them, oh ! comfort them from the 
stores of her who was once poor, and let the daughters 
of affliction be relieved by the means of their sister in 
adversity." 

The task is done: the writer can add no more, 
than that the mother, the father, and the child, rest 
under one tomb, raised by the venerable Spencer. 



THE MOOR, 



There was once in Venice a Moor of great merit; 
who for his personal courage, and the proofs he had 
given of his conduct, as w^ell as his vigorous genius in 
the affairs of war, was held in great esteem by those 
gentlemen who, in rewarding patriotic services, excel 
all the republics that ever existed. It happened that 
a virtuous woman of great beauty, called Desde- 
mona, not drawn by female appetite, but by the virtue 
of the Moor, fell in love with him ; and he, subdued 
by the charms and noble sentiments of the lady, be- 



came equally enamoured of her. Their passion was 
so successful that they were married, although her 
relations did all in their power to make her take 
another husband. 

They lived together in such peace and concord 
while they were at Venice, that there never passed 
betw een them either word or action that was not ex- 
pressive of affection. The Venetians, resolving to 
change the garrison which they maintained in 
Cyprus, elected the Moor to the command of the 
troops which they destined for that island. Although 
he w-as extremely pleased with the honour proposed 
to him, (as it is a dignity conferred only on those who 
are noble, brave, trusty, and of approved couroge.) 
yet was his joy diminished when he reflected on the 
length and inconvenience of the voyage, supposing^ 
that Desdemona must be very averse to undertaking 
it. His w ife, who valued nothing in the world but 
her husband, rejoiced exceedingly in the testimon}^ 
approbation so lately show n him by a powerfuljmd 
celebrated republic, and was extremely impal^iii for 
the departure of the troops, that she mighr sTccom- 
pany him to a post of so much honour ; but ^Vas very 
much vexed at seeing the Moor disturbed, and, not 
knowing the reason, said to him one day at dinner, 
" how can you be so melancholy after having received 
from the senate so high and so honourable a distinc- 
tion ?" " My love for you, Desdemona,'' replied the 
Moor, " disturbs my enjoyment of the rank conferred 
on me ; since I am now exposed to the alternative of 
either endangering your life by sea, or leaving you at 



160 

Venice. The first would be terrible, as I shall siiffei 
extremely from every fatigue you underp>., from every 
danger that threatens you ; the second would render 
me insupportable to myself, as parting from you 
would be parting from my life." " Ah ! husband,'' 
returned Desdemona, " why do you perplex your- 
self with idle imaginations ? I will follow you wher- 
ever you go, though it were necessary to pass through 
fire, instead of only going by water in a safe and well 
equipped vessel. If there are dangers in the way, I 
will share them with you : and indeed your affection 
for me could not be great, if you thought of leaving 
me at Venice to save me from a sea voyage, or believ- 
ed that I would rather remain here in security than 
share with you both danger and fatigue. I insist, 
therefore, on yqur^ preparing for the voyage with all 
that cheerfulness which your dignity ought to inspire." 
The Moor then tenderly embraced his wife, saying, 
^" May heaven long preserve us in this degree of recip- 
rocal affection." Soon afterwards, having settled his 
affairs, and prepared the necessary stores, he went on 
board th6 galley with his wife and his company, and 
sailed for Cyprus with a favourable wind. He had in 
his company'an ensign of a very amiable outward ap- 
pearance, but whose character was extremely treach- 
erous and base. He had imposed on the Moor's sim- 
plicity so successfully, that he had gained his friend- 
ship ; for although he was in fact a very great coward, 
yet his carriage and conversation were so haughty and 
full of pretension, that you would have taken him for 
a Hector or an Achilles. This rascal had also con 



161 

ducted his wife with him to Cyprus, who was a hand- 
some and <||fecreet woman ; and being an Italian, 
Desdemona was so fond of her, that they passed the 
greatest part of their time together. In the same 
company was also a lieutenant, to whom the Moor 
was much attached. The lieutenant was often at 
the Moor's house, and dined frequently with him 
and his wife. Desdemona, seeing that the Moor was 
so fond of him, showed him every mark of attention 
and civility, with which the Moor was much pleased. 
The detestable ensign, forgetting his duty to his own 
wife, and violating all the laws of friendship, honour, 
and gratitude, with which he was bound to the Moor, 
fell passionately in love with Desdemona, and 
thought only how he might enjoy her. He dared 
iK)t, however, avow himself, for^fear the Moor, if 
he discovered it, should instantly put him to death. 
He sought by aftgthe private means in his power to 
make Desdemona conscious of his love. But she 
was so entirely taken up with the Moor, that she 
thought neither of him or any one else; and all 
that he did to engage her affections produced not the 
least effect. He then took it into his head, that this 
neglect arose from her being pre-engaged in favour of 
the lieutenant ; and not only determined to get rid 
of him, but changed his affection for her into the 
most bitter hatred. He studied, besides, how he 
might prevent in future the Moor from living happily 
with Desdemona, should his passion not be gratified 
after he had murdered the lieutenant. Revolving 
in his mind a variety of methods, ^11 impious and 

21 



16^ 

abominable, he at last determined to accuse her to 
the Moor of adultery with the lieut^fcint. But 
knowing the Moor's affection for Desdemq^ia, and his 
friendship for the iieutenanty he plainly saw, that un- 
less his deceit was very artfully conducted, it would 
be impossible to make him think ill of either of them ; 
for this reason, he determined to wait till time and 
place afforded him a fit opportunity for entering on 
his wicked design ; and it was not long before the 
Moor degraded the lieutenant, for having drawn his 
sword and wounded a soldier upon guard. This ac- 
cident was so painful to Desdemona, that she often 
tried to obtain for him her husband's pardon. 

In the mean time, the Moor had observed to the 
ensign, that his wife teazed him so much in favour 
of the lieutenant, that he feared he should be obliged 
at last to restore him to his commission. 

This appeared to that villain th^proper moment 
for opening his scheme of treachery, which he began 
by saying, " perhaps Desdemona is fond of his compa- 
ny." " And why ?" said the Moor. "Nay," replied he, 
" I do not choose to meddle between man and wife I 
but if you watch her pro^perly you will understand me." 
Nor would he, to the earnest entreaties of the Moor, 
afford any further explanation. The words had stung 
the Moor so severely, that he endeavoured perpetually 
to find out their meaning, and became exceedingly me- 
lancholy. Whereupon, when his wife, sometime after- 
wards, repeated her solicitations that he would forgive 
the lieutenant, and not sacrifice the service and 
Mendsbip of so many years to one slight fault, par- 



163 

ticularly as the lieutenant and the soldier were 
friends ag||p, the Moor grew angry, and said to her, 
" It is somewhat extraordinary, Desdemona, that you 
should take so much trouble about this fellow ; he is 
neither your brother nor your relation, that he should 
claim so much of your affection." His wife, with 
much sweetness and humility, replied, " I have no 
other motive for speaking, than the pain it gives me 
to see you deprived of so excellent a frier>d as you 
have always told me the lieutenant was to you. I 
liope you will not be angiy with me ; yet his fault does 
not merit so much of your hatred : but you Moors 
are of so warm a constitution, that every trifle trans- 
ports you with anger and revenge." The Moor, still 
irritated by these words, replied, " Perhaps one who 
suspects it not may learn that, by experience, I will 
be revenged for the injuries done to me so thoroughly 
that I shall be satisfied." His wife, who was much 
terrified by these expressions, and seeing him, for the 
first time, in a passion with her, submissively answer- 
ed^ " 1 have none but the purest motive for speaking 
on the business : but not to displease you in future, 
I promise not to speak of it again." The Moor, on 
this new application made by his wife in favour of 
the lieutenant, imagined that the ensign's words 
meant that she was in love with him : he therefore 
went to that scoundrel in a state of great dejection, 
and endeavoured to make him speak moi*e intelligi- 
bly. The ensign, bent on the ruin of this poor wo- 
man, after feigning an unwillingness to say any thing 
to her disadvantage, and at last pretending to yield to 



164 

the vehement entreaties of the Moor, said, " I cannot 
conceal the pain I feel in being imder t^ necessity 
of making a discoveiy which will be to you so very 
shocking ; but since you insist on it, and the atten- 
tion which I ought to pay to the honour of my com- 
manding officer prompts me to speak, I will not now 
refuse to satisfy your dem.and and my own duty. 
lo 1 must know that Desdemona is only displeased 
at seeing you angry with the lieutenant, because, 
When he comes to your house, she consoles herself 
with him for the disgust which your blackness now 
occ-dsions her to feel." 

These words penetrated to the very bottom of the 
Moor's heart ; but to be better informed, (although his 
previous suspicion made him give credit to the ensign's 
information,) he assumed a threatening countenance, 
and said, " I know not what prevents me from cutting 
out that insolent tongue of yours, that has so impu- 
dently attacked the honour of my wife." The ensign 
then replied, " I expected no other reward for this 
friendly office of mine ; but since my duty has made 
me go so far, and my regard for your honour still re- 
mains, I tell you again that the case is so ; and if her 
feigned affection for you has blindfolded you to such 
a degree that you have not seen what is so visible, 
that does not at all lessen the truth of my assertion. 
The lieutenant himself, who is one of those who are 
not content with their own enjoyments when some 
others are not acquainted with them, told me so ; and, 
added he, if I had not feared your displeasure, I v»'ould 
have given him, at the time, the death he merited. 



165 

But since the information I give you, which concerns 
you more thab any one else, makes you treat me so 
veiy improperly, I am sorry I did not hold my tongue, 
that I might have avoided giving you offence." The 
Moor then answered, in great agitation, " if you do not 
make me see, with my own eyes, the truth of what 
you tell me, be assured that I will make you wish you 
had been born dumb." 

" This would have been easy enough," replied the 
villain ; " but since you have driven him away for a 
lighter reason than that which ought to have banished 
him thence, it will be difficult to prove it. For though 
I think he yet continues to enjoy Desdemona when- 
ever you give him an opportunity, he must necessa- 
rily proceed with greater caution now than he did be- 
fore he had incurred your displeasurdf But 1 do not 
despair of making you see that, which upon my word 
you will not receive." They then separated. The 
poor Moor went home with a barbed arrow in his side, 
waiting impatiently for the day when the ensign 
should show him what was to render him for ever 
miserable. But the known purity of Desdemona's 
conduct gave no less uneasiness to the villanous en- 
sign, because he was afraid he should not be able to 
convince the Moor of what he had so falsely assured 
him. He applied himself, therefore, to (he invention 
of new malice, and devised other expedients. I have 
already said that Desdemona went frequently to the 
ensign's house, and passed great part of the day with 
his wife. The villain had observed that she often 
brought with her a handkerchief that the Moor had 



166 

given her, and which, as it was very delicately worked 
in the Moorish taste, was very highly valued by them 
both ; he determined to steal it, and by its means com- 
plete her ruin. He had a little girl about three years 
old that was much caressed by Desdembna ; and one 
day, when the unhappy woman was on a visit to this 
villain, he took up the child in his arms, and presented 
it to Desdemona, who received it and pressed it to her 
bosom. In the same instant this deceiver stole from 
her sash the handkerchief, with such dexterity, that 
she did not perceive him, and went away with it in 
very high spirits. Desdemona went home, and taken 
up with other thoughts, never recollected her handker- 
chief till some days after, when, not being able to find 
it, she began to fear that the Moor would ask her for 
it, as he often ^id. The infamous ensign watched 
his opportunity, went to the lieutenant, and, to aid his 
wicked purpose, left the handkerchief on his bolster. 
The lieutenant did not find it till the next morning, 
tvhen, getting up, he set his foot upon it as it had 
fallen to the floor. Not being able to imagine how it 
came, and knowing it to be Desdemona's, he deter- 
mined to carry it back to her, and waiting till the 
Moor had gone out, he went to the back door and 
knocked. Fortune, who seemed to have conspired, 
along with the ensign, the death of this poor woman, 
brought the Moor home in the same instant. Hear- 
ing some one knock, he went to the window, and 
much disturbed, asked " who is there ?" The lieute- 
nant, hearing his voice, and fearing that when he came 
down he w^ould do him some mischief, ran away with- 



167 

out aaswering. The Moor came down, and finding 
no one either at the door or in the street, returned 
lull of suspicion to his wife, and asked her if she knew 
who it was that had knocked. She answered with 
great truth that she knew not. "But I think," saidhe^ 
" it was the Ueutenant." " It might be he," said she, 
^' or any one else." The Moor checked himself at 
the time, though he was violently enraged, and de- 
termined to take no step without first consulting the 
ensign. To him he immediately went, and related 
what had happened, begging him to learn from the 
lieutenant what he could on the subject. The ensign 
rejoiced mnch in this accident, and promised to do 
so. He contrived to enter into discourse with him 
one day, in a place where the Moor might see them» 
He talked with him on a very different subject, 
laughed much, and expressed by his motions and 
attitudes very great surprise. 

The Moor, as soon as he saw them separate, w'ent 
to the ensign, and desired to know what had passed 
between them. The ensign, after many solicitations, 
at last told him, that he had concealed nothing from 
him. He says he has enjoyed your wife every time 
that you have staid long enough from home to give 
him an opportunity ; and that, in their last interview^ 
she had made him a present of that handkerchief 
which you gave her. The Moor tlianked him, and 
thought that if his wife had no longer the handker- 
chief in her possession, it would be a proof that the 
ensign had told him the truth. For which reason, one 
day after dinner, among other subjects, he asked hei- 



168 

for this handkerchief. The poor woman, who had 
long apprehended this, blushed excessively at the 
question, and to hide her change of colour, which 
the Moor had very accurately observed, ran to her 
wardrobe, and pretended to look for it. After having 
searched for some time " I cannot conceive," said 
she, " what is become of it ; have you taken it ?" 
'' Had I taken it," replied he, " I should not have ask- 
ed you for it : but you may look for it at your ease." 
Leaving her then, he began to reflect what would 
be the best way of putting to death his wife and the 
lieutenant, and how he might avoid being prosecuted 
for the murder. Thinking night and day on this sub- 
ject, he could not prevent Desdemooa from perceiv- 
ing that his behaviour to her was very different from 
what it had been formerly. She often asked him 
" w hat it was that agitated him so violently ? You, 
who was once the merriest man alive, are now the 
most melancholy." The Moor answered, and alleged 
a variety of reasons, but she was not satisfied with 
any of them ; and knowing that she had done no- 
thing to justify so much agitation, she began to fear 
that he grew tired of her. She once, in conversation 
with the ensign's wife, expressed herself thus : " I 
know not what to say of the Moor; he used to treat 
me most affectionately ; and I begin to fear that my 
example will teach young women never to marry 
against their parents' consent ; and, the Italians in 
particular, not to connect themselves with men from 
w^hom they are separated by nature, climate, educa- 
tion, and complexion. But as I know him to be the 



169 

confidant of jour husband, whom he consults oq 
all occasions, I entreat you, if you have heard any- 
thing that might explain this mystery and be of use to 
me, not to deny me your assistance." These words 
were accompanied with a flood of tears. 

The ensign's wife, who knew all, (as her husband 
had in vain endeavoured to prevail on her to become 
an accomplice in the murder of Desdemona,) but 
durst tell her nothing for fear of her husband, only 
said, " Take care not to give the Moor any cause for 
suspicion, and do all in your power to convince him of 
your affection and fidelity." " Why, so I do," said 
she, " but to no purpose." The Moor, in the mean 
time, did all in his power to prove what he desired 
not to find true, and begged the ensign to let him see 
the handkerchief in possession of the lieutenant. Al- 
though this was a difficult undertaking, yet the villain 
promised to do all in his power to give him a satisfac- 
tory proof of this. The lieutenant had a woman in the 
house, who was a notable embroiderer in mushn, and 
who, struck with the beauty of Desdemona's hand- 
kerchief, determined to copy it before it should be 
returned to her. She set about making one like it, 
and while she was at w^ork, the ensign discovered that 
she sat at a window where any one who passed in 
the street might see her. This he took care to point 
out to the Moor, who was then fully persuaded that 
his chaste and innocent wife was an adulteress. Hq 
agreed with the ensign to kill both her and the lieu- 
tenant ; and consulting together about the means, 
fhe Moor entreated him to undertake the as,sassina- 



170 

tion of the ofiicer, promising never to forget so great 
an obligation. He refused, however, to attempt what 
was so very difficult and dangerous, as the Heutenant 
w^as equally brave and vigilant ; but with much en- 
treaty, and considerable presents, he was prevailed on 
to say that he would hazard the experiment. One 
dark night, after taking this resolution, he observed the 
lieutenant coming out of the house of a female liber- 
tine, where he usually passed his evening, and as- 
saulted him, sword in hand. He struck at his legs, with 
a view of bringing him to the ground, and, with the 
first blow, cut him through the right thigh. The poor 
man instantly fell, and the ensign ran to him to put 
him to death. But the lieutenant, who was outra- 
geous, and familiar with wounds and slaughter, hav- 
ing drawn his sword, notwithstanding his desperate 
situation, and raised himself for defence, cried out 
murder, as loud as he could. The ensign, perceiving 
that some people were coming, and that the soldiers 
quartered thereabouts had taken the alarm, fled for 
fear of being caught, and returning back again, pre- 
tended that he had likewise been brought there by 
the noise. Placing himself among the rest, and see- 
ing that the leg was cut off, he concluded that though 
he was not dead, he must die of his wound : and al- 
though he was exceedingly rejoiced at all this, yet he 
condoled with the lieutenant as much as if he had 
been a brother. 

Next morning this affair was spread all over th e city, 
and came to the ears of Desdemona, who, being very 



171 

compassionate, and not suspecting this could occasion 
mischief to herself, expressed the greatest concern for 
the heutenant'S misfortune. 

The Moor drew from hence the worst inferences, 
and said to the ensign, " You must know that my 
simpleton of a wife is almost mad with sorrow for the 
lieutenant's accident." " How could it be otherwise,'' 
said he, " as he is her life and soul ?'' '- How ?" said 
the Moor, " her life and soul ! 1 will separate her soul 
from her body; I should disgrace my manhood if I 
killed her not ;" and discoursing together if poison or 
dagger would be best, and not liking either the one 
or the other, the ensign said, "A method hath occurred 
to me that would satisfy you without creating the 
least suspicion. The house where you live is very 
old, and the ceiling of your chamber is broken in 
many places. Desdemona might be beaten to death 
with a stocking full of sand, and no marks of this 
would remain on the body, \^^len she is dead, we 
will pull down a [jart of the ceiling, and bruise your 
wife's head; then give out that a beam in falling 
has done this, and killed her. If you follow this 
advice you will avoid all suspicion, and every one 
will believe her death to have been at:cidental.'^ 
This savage advice pleased the Moor ; and Avaiting 
for a convenient opportunity, he concealed the ensign 
one night in a closet that communieated with their 
chamber. 

When they were in bed, the ensign, according to 
his directions, made a noise in the closet, and the 
Moor immediatelv asked his wife if she heard it ? 



112 

She answered, yeg. Get up then and see what it fe. 
Poor Desdeniona obeyed, and as soon as she was 
near the closet door, the ensign rushed out, and with 
the stocking that he had prepared, gave her a violent 
blow on the small of her back ; she fell down scarce 
able to breathe ; but with what little force she had, 
she called the Moor, to her assistance. He got out of 
bed, and said to her, " Most infamous woman, you 
are now to receive the just reward of your infidelity ! 
even so are those wives treated, who, pretending to 
love their husbands, are untrue to their beds." The 
poor woman hearing these words, and feeling that she 
was ready to expire from a second blow that the en- 
sign had given her, said, " That since the justice of 
this world was refused her, she attested the divine 
justice in favour of her honour and her tnith ;" and 
invoking the divine assistance, she was finished by 
the impious ensign, who struck her a third time. Af- 
ter breaking her scull, they drew down, as they had 
determined beforehand, a part of the ceiling. The 
Moor then called out for help, as the house was fall- 
ing. The neighbours, on this alarm, run thither, and 
found Desdemona dead under the beams. Her life 
had been so virtuous, that every one lamented her 
fate ; and the following day she was buried, to the 
great sorrow of the whole island. But God, who is 
a just observer of the hearts of men, suffered not 
so great a crime to pass without the punishment 
that wa3 due to it, The Moor, who had loved 
Desdemona more than his eyes, finding himself de- 
prived of hejr forever, and reflecting, besides, tha^ 



173 

the ensign had been the cause of his losing, in 
her, all the enjoyments of life, and even his own 
faculties, that villain became so insupportable to him 
that he could not bear the sight of him ; and had he 
not feared the strict and impartial justice of the Ve 
nitians, he would have put him openly to death. 
But not able to do this with safety to himself, he de- 
graded him from his commission, and permitted him 
no longer to remain in the company. Hence arose 
between them the most bitter enmity that can be 
conceived ; and the ensign, the greatest of all vil- 
lains, studied only how he might be revenged on the 
Moor. He went to the lieutenant, who was cured, 
and walked about with his wooden leg, and said to 
him, " The time is now come, when you might be re- 
venged for the loss of your leg ; and if you will come 
with me to Venice, I will tell you who the assassin 
was. Here I dare not inform you for many reasons : 
but there I will be your witness in a court of justice.'* 
The lieutenant, who felt himself violently exas- 
perated against the person, though unknown to him. 
thanked the ensign, and went with him to Venice. 
When they were arrived, the ensign told him, " That 
the Moor was the person who had cut off his leg, be- 
cause he suspected him of adultery with his wife, 
and that for the same reason he had murdered her, 
and afterwards given out that she had been killed by 
the ceiling falling in upon her." The lieutenant, on 
hearing this, immediately accused the Mooi', before 
the council, of the injury done to himself, and the 
murder of Desdemona ; and the lensign being called 



174 

^3 a witness?, asserted the truth of both these accusa- 
tions, and added, " that the Moor had communicated 
to him the whole project, with a view of persuading 
him to execute both these crimes, and when he had 
murdered his wife from the impulse of a furious jea- 
lousy, he had related to him the manner in which he 
had put her to death " The Venitian magistrates, 
hearing that one of their fellow citizens had been 
treated with so much cruelty by a barbarian, had the 
Moor arrested in Cyprus and brought to Venice, 
where, by means of the torture, they endeavoured to 
find out the truth. But the Moor possessed force and 
constancy of mind sufficient to undergo the torture 
without confessing any thing ; and though by his 
firmness he escaped death at this time, he was, after 
long imprisonment, condemned to perpetual exile, in 
which he was afterwards killed, as he deserved to be^ 
by his wife's relations. 

The ensign returned to his country, where still 
continuing his old practices, he accused one of his 
companions of having attempted to murder a noble- 
man who was his enemy. The man was taken up 
and put to the torture, and denying firmly the crime 
laid to his charge, his accuser was also put to the tor- 
ture ; where he was racked so violently that his vi- 
tals were injured, and upon being conducted home, 
he died in great agony. Thus was the divine ven- 
geance executed against those who had murderei 
the innocent Desdemona. 

The ensign's wife, who had been informed of the 
whole affair, after* his death, thus circumstantially 
related the storv. 



175 



THE TVELCH COTTAGE. 



We took shelter at a most miserable looking hut at 
tlie side of the heath, and accepted the protection it 
offered, with as entire good will as if it had been aa 
eastern palace. My horse was obliged to crawl into 
a kind of outhouse, where a swine driver and his pigs 
had the instant before taken refuge, and while I w^as 
reconciling my steed to this society, a Jew pedlav 
and his pack, and another traveller, with his dog, 
crowded in. Necessity, as Shakspeare says, brings one 
•acquainted with strange company. Not that these 
are the words of that immortal bard, and of course my 
memory has injured the sentiment; but you, who 
have literally his works by heart, can do him justice. 

A being, scarcely human in appearance, invited me 
to enter the hut. I entered. Its inhabitants — hov/ 
shall I describe them ? Fancy something which as- 
sembles the extremes of filth, penury, health, and feli- 
city ; personify these among men, women, and chil- 
dren ; give to each of them forms and features which 
confer a sort of grace and beauty on the household of 
the barber of Barmouth, by comparison. Put all this 
filth, penury, health, and felicity into motion, and 
having formed a grciipe, imagine that you see it un- 
shod, unstockinged, uncapped, and nearly unpetti- 
coated and unbreeched. Young and old were busied 
in counting the finest and freshest herrings I have ever 
seen, that iiKtant brought in from the fi,shing boat. 



m 

The father of the family, to whom the boat belonged^ 
declared he never had so prosperous a voyage ; and 
though he was almost blown away, he would hazard 
twice as much danger for such another drag. ''Look ! 
what a size they are of, and how they shine, my boys 
and girls ; i'faith, they seemed plaguily afraid of the 
hurricane, and came in shoals to the nets, as if they 
took shelter in them ; little thinking, poor fools ! that 
this was a jump from the water to the fire ! And now 
I talk of that, here, put half a dozen of them into the 
pan, for I am deuced hungry ; and, mayhap, this gen- 
tleman may be so too, and if so be that he is, he shall 
be as welcome to a fresh herring and a brown biscuit a& 
myself. What say you, my heart of oak," continued 
he, clapping me as familiarly on the shoulder as if I had 
been his messmate, and, indeed, treating me as hospi- 
tably as if I had been so, and we had both escaped 
from a wreck to his cabin. Perceiving my dripping 
situation, he said, " Come, shipmate, doff your jacket ; 
put on this rug; come to anchor in that corner ; warm 
your shivering timbers with a drop of this dear crea- 
ture, which Vv^ill make a dead fish speak like an orator. 
There, another swig ; don't be afraid of it ; one more. 
And now you will do while your rigging and canvass^ 
are drying." 

All this time, my host of the hovel stood in his sea- 
drenched apparel: on my reminding him of which, 
he cried out, smilingly, " Ah ! you are a fresh water 
sailor, I perceive, and would take a deal of seasoning 
before you w^ere good for any thing : but, for me, all 
winds and v/cathcrs are alike to old Jack, while I can 



177 

get good fish abroad, and good flesh at home ; so fry 
away Molly, for the wet has made me as hungry as a 
shark ; and, though I have drank like a whale, I shall 
now eat like a lion, and I hope you will do the same, 
messmate. 

By this time mine hostess set before us our dish of 
herring; which, wdth oatmeal cakes, potatoes, and 
buttermilk, furnished one of the heartiest dinners I 
ever ate ; after which, the sailor made me partake of 
a can of flip, sung a song about the dangers and hard- 
ships of a seafaring life, and made me take notice that 
he was the happy father of a cabin full of children, and 
thftt, if it pleased God to send him a dozen such pieces 
of good fortune every year, for a dozen of seasons, he 
should be as able, as he was wilhng, to procure a snug 
birth for every one. In the mean time, master, we 
will have another sip of grog, and drink success to the 
herring fishery. 

Our regale was soon interrupted by the sudden ex- 
clamations from without doors, of " She's lost ! She's 
lost ! She can't weather it ! She must go to the bot- 
tom ! There is not water enough for her to come in^ 
and the w ind blows like the devil in her teeth. She's 
sinking ; the next sea will finish her." All the cotta- 
gers ran to the beach, which was within a few paces, 
I followed instinctively. The hurricane was again 
renewed ; the seas ran mountain high, and a small 
coasting vessel was struggling with them. In a few 
minutes the strand was covered with spectators, but 
not idle ones. The whole of the villagers hunied to 
give assistance. Among the crowd I discovered both 

23 



178 

ibe pig driver and the pedlar, whose situation 1 had 
began to relate to my kind hearted host ; but the 
most assiduous of the whole multitude, was a young 
woman ; who, while the tears ran down her cheeks, 
was amidst the first to leap into a small boat, which 
had been anchored on the beach, and in which the 
master of our cottage, and three others, resolved to 
trust themselves, to offer such assistance as was in 
their power. 

The wind did not abate of its fury, but shifted a 
few points more in shore : this, perhaps, in a vessel of 
great burden, might have been fatal, but was, in some 
sort, favourable to the bark in distress. She had, by 
tacking, gained a situation parallel to a harbour, 
where she might run on shore ; which she did at 
length without much damage ; and the only thing 
now to be apprehended, was the loss of the boat that 
had gone out to her succour. The people on board 
the vessel were almost instantly on land, and one of 
them being shown the boat, and told at the same 
time that she went out to the relief of the crew, was 
among the most active to throw out a rope, and try 
to return the favour intended him in kind. The same 
circumstance however, which brought in the vessel, 
presently befriended the boat, who, venturing to set 
her sail, was, after a few desperate rolls, impelled over 
the billows, and driven, as it were, headlong on 
shore; but not before the sailor, who had been hand- 
ing out a rope, perceived the female in the boat, on 
which he threw himself to the ground, in che eager- 
ness of catching her in his arms. You akeady fee! 



they were lovers^ They were more. The bands rf 
matrimony had united them the week before. The 
very fishing boat, which was driven on shore, was 
the mutual property of the two fathers, who had 
agreed to give up each his share to their son and 
daughter, as their wedding portion 5 two of the men 
in the little skiff were the fathers ; the profits of the her- 
ring season were to be the children's fortune. How 
thin are the bounds which separate the extremes of 
happiness from the excesses of misery ! The former, 
however, were now realized ; the vessel brought in a 
good freight, the fathers were saved, and the children 
were happy. They all resided in, and Avere indeed na- 
tives of the village ; but mine host, whose house was 
nearest to the place of landing, and who had a heart 
sufficiently expanded to fill a palace with people that 
stood in need of hospitality, insisted, that as soon as 
the little Sally and Jack, which it seems v*as the 
name of the fishing-boat, could be left for half an 
hour, they should pass it with him : this being agreed 
to, all hands went to work upon the little Sally and 
Jack ; and if I had not been apprehensive that my igno- 
rance in Avhat was to be done would rather have con- 
fused than assisted, my poor aid should not have 
been withheld. 

Matters being put to rights, and less mischief done 
than might have been expected, the company set oflf 
for the hut of my generous host, who took a hand of 
each of the married lovers, walking between them, 
and told them, he hoped, as they had so well escap- 
ed Davy's locker this time, they would tumble in a 



180 

hammock together these fifty years. A tresh supply 
of fish was immediately put into the pan ; my land- 
lord swearing a terrible oath that on this occasionj for 
there was a strict friendship between him and the 
parties preserved, the old saying should be verified, 
as to their swimming twice ; accordingly, for their 
second ocean, it was determined that the bowl, 
which some years before had commemorated an 
escape from a shipwreck in his own fortune, should 
now be filled to the brim, to celebrate the success of 
the little Sally and Jack. I was pressed to stay and 
take my share, on pain of being deemed too proud 
to be happy among poor people ; and on observing 
that my steed all this time was in a state w^hich re- 
proached me for faring so sumptuously, he started 
up, declaring, that though he could not ride, he lov- 
ed a horse next to a man, and that if mine would put 
up with a mess of bran instead of hay, of which he 
had none, and a draught of ale instead of water, he 
should be as welcome as his own soul. I took him 
at his word, and staid to witness and join in the fes- 
tivities, till there was just enough of the evening left 
to reach Abderest with. I would have offered a small 
token of acknowledgment for what I had received, 
but that I saw a tremendous froAvn gathering on the 
brow of my host, and an oath quivering on his lip, 
which frightened me from my design, and made me 
only take his hand, with an assurance, that I would 
never pass his house without stopping to see if all 
was well on board, and how the herring fishery suc- 
ceeded. This so pleased him, that he made the 



181 

bowl go round to my health, and wished another 
2:ale of wind would blow me into his hovel as often 
as I should come along side of it ; then led out my 
horse, held my stirrup while I mounted, and huzza'd 
ine in three hearty cheers, till I was out of Fight. 



ANECDOTE. 



A display of real courage, successfully exerted, in order 
to avoid a most excruciating and barbarous death. 



General Forbes, Avho took possession of FortDu 
Quesne, upon the French abandoning it last war, 
being informed that a large body of the enemy were 
preparing to attack him, ordered a lieutenant and 
forty men to reconnoitre their number and situation, 
they being about three days march from the fort. 
The officer and his detachment proceeded with great 
cheerfulness and alacrity, without the least appear- 
ance of an enemy, until about six o'clock in the 
morning of the third day's march, when they were 
suddenly fired upon from the woods by a body of In- 
dians, who killed nine of them upon the spot ; upon 
which the officer, well knowing that he could not at- 
tack the enemy in their then situation but at the 
greatest disadvantage, very judiciously drew off the 
remains of his little detachment to a neighbouring 
plain, and there formed them in order of battle, for 



182 

the reception of the savages : but a:fter lemainiiig in 
that position for several hours, and findi«g that they 
did not advance, he prosecuted his march. He had, 
however, proceeded but a few miles, before he 
found himself in a narrow pass, between two high 
mountains, and at the same time perceived a large 
body of Indians (upwards of three hundred) pouring 
down upon him. He immediately formed his men 
in the most advantageous situation circumstances 
would admit of, determining to sell their lives at as 
dear a rate as possible. The conflict was now be- 
gun ; the consequence of which was, that the Eng- 
lish were all cut to pieces, except seven men, and 
their officer, who was wounded. The Indians had 
upwards of sixty of their number killed, besides many 
wounded. They tied the hands of the survivors of 
this brave little detachment behind their backs, and 
most unmercifully loaded them with their baggage. 
In this manner they were marched six days, when 
they arrived at the habitations of the savages, nearly 
famished for want of the necessaries of life. The 
next morning the unhappy prisoners were led forth 
hy the wives of those Indians who fell in th^ action, 
who first proceeded, by way of prologue to the tragi- 
cal scene which was to follow, by stripping them 
quite naked ; and then tying one of them to a stake, 
and lighting a small and slow fire between his feet, 
they began to exercise the most excruciating tortures 
that their ingenuity could possibly invent, by tearing 
the miserable wretch's flesh off* his bones with red 
hot pincers, boring his eyes out, and otherwise tor- 



/ 



183 

menting him by /the most barbarous and unheard of 
Giuelty, to the great entertainment of the more than 
savage brutes who were the spectators. In this hor- 
rid manner did these infernal wretches continue to 
exercise their most savage natures, until they had 
put an end to the lives of the poor unhappy soldiers. 
Those squaws (for such are the females called) who 
displayed the greatest barbarism as tormentors, re- 
ceived the greatest applause and approbation from 
all their companions during the exhibition of this 
tragical scene. 

It now became the officer's turn to fall a sacrifice to 
the manes of those departed savages. He told the 
squaws, (having served long in America, he had ac- 
quired the Indian language,) when they came to drag 
him to the stake, that if they would spare his life, he 
would communicate a secret, the knowledge of which 
would enable them to render their bodies invulnera- 
ble, so that neither ball nor sword could penetrate 
them 5 that he would admit the fust experiment te> 
be made upon himself ; and that he only desired to 
be allowed twenty-four hours for the preparation of i? 
composition necessary for the undertaking. The sa- 
vages, after having deliberated together for some timCj 
told the officer, that they agreed to his proposition: 
but, at the same time, denounced, that the most un- 
heard of vengeance should await him if he deceived 
them, by thus procrastinating his fate. The twenty- 
four hours being expired, the savage women led forth 
their victim, who had prepared a liquid, composed of 
water^ red clay, and ashes.. With this he anointed his 



184 > 

neck, until it was of a brownish colour ; he then in- 
formed them, that when it was a little dry, they 
might make an experiment, by applying a very sharp 
hatchet with great force ; and that, if his preparation 
failed of its intention, he begged they would inflict 
upon him the most severe death which they could 
possibly devise. Having thus delivered himself to 
his savage auditors, he laid his head upon a block, 
when the chief squaw took a hatchet, and applied it 
to his neck to so good a purpose, that she chopped 
off his head at one blow, to the great astonishment, 
as Avell as disappointment, of the whole tribe, who 
had assembled together upon this important occasion. 



THE REPARATION. 

IIo^^oKious one day received from his brother the 
following letter : I desired to have your son ; you 
entrusted him to me from his earhest years. Before 
I constituted him my heir, I was anxious to make him 
my friend. Indeed, with the sensibility of a father, 
I was resolved to procure, by adoption, what nature 
had refused me, a son whom I could love. I wished 
to have him with me quite young, that I might my- 
self have the pleasure 



-To rear his tender thoughts, 



To teach his young ideas how to shoot ; 

And by early and increasing benefits, I wished him 
to behold in me, not a rich uncle, but a tender father. 



185 

You consented to my wishes : you tore yourself from 
the dearest object in the world ; and banishing him, 
as it were, three hundred miles from yourself, you 
thought, at least, that you had given happiness to a 
brother. But ah, my brother, my friend, our hope3 
have been disappointed ! This is a confession that I 
have postponed for many years, because I was sen- 
sible what grief it would occasion. But I can no 
longer defer it. Frederick is unworthy both of you 
and me ; and his past conduct has rendered me quite 
hopeless of the future. I do not speak of the follies 
of infancy : the faults of that period are to be attri- 
buted less to the character, than to tender and thought- 
less years. What do I say ? His extreme vivacity ap- 
peared to me the pledge and first fruits of his under- 
standing ; in his indocility, I beheld nothing but a 
notable pride ; and in adopting the title, I had con- 
tracted the weakness of a father. I must confess, 
moreover, that even in the very faults of Frederick, 
there was a kind of splendour that was calculated to 
deceive. I was blind. Alas ! why cannot I be sq 
now ! When he leaves me, I am a prey to the 
most alarming apprehensions. Abandoned to all 
the passions of his age, they are marked in him by 
an effervescence that neither reason nor authority can 
assuage. In a word, not a day passes but his health 
and his fortune are endangered. Neither my grief, 
nor the sufferings that frequently result from his owa 
conduct, can afiect him in the least: he is every mo- 
ment punished without being corrected. I know 
how much I wound your heart ; but mine bled for 

24 



186 

iiiany years before I could determine to break silence. 
I have but one hope remaining : It is in you. Write 
to him : speak to him with the feelings and authority 
of a father. If this last effort should not succeed, f 
abandon all my hopes ; I restore to you a present that 
will be fatal to us both; for the heart is not reformed 
by change of situation ; and I shall still have th6 
misfortune of not being able to rid myself of an un- 
grateful nephew, without being almost certain of 
loading you wdth an unnatural son." 

This letter plunged Honorious into the most violent 
grie£ He possessed, at Lyons, a moderate fortune, 
which was all embarked in commerce. Frederick 
was his only son, whom he tenderly loved ; and to 
secure a rich inheritance to him, he had sent him to 
Paris, to be brought up by his brother. This sacri- 
fice embittered still more the sensation of calamity. 
And perhaps some tracies of illusion, that hardly ever 
quit the paternal bosom, persuaded him, if his son 
had remained under his own inspection, he would 
have been more faithful to his duty. It cost him 
much less to accuse his fate, than to condemn his son. 

In this situation, however, he found what a bless- 
ing was the heart to which he could impart his grief. 
He repaired to Fiorio, who was not so much his part- 
ner in trade as his friend. They liv ed together ; and 
were fnore united by their sentiments than by their 
commerce. After lamenting a misfortune, which 
friendship had rendered mutual, Honorious wrote to 
his son. Frederick read the letter, wept perhaps in 
reading it, and persisted in his conduct. The entrea-^ 



187 

ties and menaces of his uncle were but empty noise ; 
and his father's letters were soon treated as ridiculous 
declamation. The house of every virtuous family 
was shut against him ; and by all who would pre- 
serve a character^ his acquaintance was considered as, 
disgraceful. His profligacy, at last, was carried to 
such a height, that the authority of the law^s was 
obliged to interfere. An information was lodged 
against him for an action, Avhich, perhaps, was exag- 
gerated by his enemies ; and that exile, with which 
he had been so often threatened by his uncle, be- 
came now his only means of safety. Forced to fly, 
abandoned by his uncle, and not daring to appear be- 
fore his father, what asylum can he seek ? Whose 
succour can he implore ? He could see nothing in 
the prospect but humiliation and ruin. In compar- 
ing his present situation with the past, and with what 
he had reason to expect in future, he remained fo^* 
some time in a state of inconceivable an2:uish. Ad- 
versity, however, instead of driving him to despera- 
tion, became the reasonable school of wisdom ; he 
soon recollected all his powers, and formed a plan, 
which, perhaps, it is not easy to parallel. 

When man, by the errors of youth, has destroyed 
his happiness, and what is still more dreadful, lost the 
public esteem, the fate of his whole life depends the^ 
upon the first resolution he may form ; and that first 
resolution is determined by his particular character. 
A person of weak understanding, although born with 
a love of virtue, finds no resource within himself. To 
his misfortunes he can orily oppose unavailing tears ; 



188 

the remorse which incessantly haunts him is attend- 
ed by discouragement ; he feels contrition for his 
faults, without having the power to repair them ; when 
he perceives he has lost the public esteem, he is ter- 
rified by the efforts which are necessary to retrieve it ; 
and, despairing to avoid infamy, he voluntarily de* 
votes himself to it. He, on the contrary, who is born 
with an energetic soul, no sooner perceives the abyss 
into which his passions have plunged him, than he is 
impatient of every obstacle to his release. Remorse 
does not teach him merely to deplore his faults, it 
excites him to efface them : he seeks not that philo- 
sophy that enables him to endure misfortunes, but 
that resolution which may enable him to subdue them. 
The mind of Frederick was endued with that reso- 
lution, which, when once exerted, is almost constant- 
ly crowned with success. His eyes were no longer 
covered by the bandage of illusion ; he beheld his 
misconduct with the eye of reason and equity : he 
acknowledged his punishment to be just ; he felt that 
he merited the desertion of his relations, and the con- 
tempt of all virtuous men ; but to make no effort to 
tegain their esteem, he thought would doubly deserve 
their contempt. Punished by calamity, and corrected 
by repentance, his first object was to recover his own 
esteem. The most obvious suggestion, perhaps, in his 
situation, was to go to his father, and throw himself 
at his feet. He felt a reluctance, however, to request 
forgiveness, for his great anxiety was first to deserve 
it. The accomplishments which his uncle had caused 
him to be taught for his amusement, he was now hap- 



189 

py to render subservient to his subsistence. lie visit- 
ed several towns under a fictitious name ; to the 
sciences, which he had already acquired, he ^dded 
still more by study ; his principal view, however, was 
to qualify himself as a merchant. 

Some years had now elapsed since he quitted his 
uncle's house, and his father had almost despaired of 
seeing him again. Even the healing hand of time 
had not yet consoled him for his loss. He had con- 
demned his son, but he wept for him still. His chief 
consolation was the friendship of Florio, w ho had an 
excellent heart, and was a person of the most rigid 
probity. Florio had been left a widower early, with 
a daughter of sixteen, who, to the candour which she 
inherited from her father, united the modesty of her 
sex, and the 'titnidity of her tender age. To her per- 
sonal charms, she added that inexpressible grace in 
action and conversation which ever heightens the 
power of beauty. Marianne, which was her namCj 
divided her filial cares between her father and Hono- 
rious, who loved her tenderly, and who endeavoured 
to find in her the child whom he had lost. 

In the mean time, Frederick had returned to his 
native city, with a total alteration in his manners and 
principles. Steady to the vows he had formed to re- 
pair and expiate the errors of his youth, he resolved, 
if possible, to take shelter under his father's roof. 
But he was unwilling to come before his father in tho 
character of a guilty, though a repentant son; al- 
though he might have flattered himself, perhaps, with 
obtaining favour in his eyes who had not himself been 



190 

a witness of his irregularities, Liidovicus, however, 
(for that was the name he had assumed,) was less ap- 
prehensive of being pardoned, than of meriting his 
pardon. He wished to prove by actions, that his heart 
was changed, and to have unquestionable rights to 
the clemency of his father. 

As Frederick was removed from his father's house 
while an infant, he could not possibly be known by 
him. This circumstance was favourable to his views, 
and he neglected nothing to render them successful. 
Having made commerce, as I observed before, his 
particular study, he had acquired a reputation as an 
excellent accountant, under the name he had assu- 
med; and being recommended from town to town, he 
had the good fortune to be accepted by Florio, who 
had occasion for a clerk. LudovicusH-^jas delighted 
with this happy accident. But I have already said, 
that Honorious and Florio lived together, and it was 
not without trembling that he first set foot -in their 
house. Such, however, was the reception he met 
with, that his heart was soon at ease. He was hand- 
some and genteel, of a pleasing address, and engaging 
countenance. An excellent understanding was soon 
conspicuous, with abilities equal to the most difficult 
affairs. Opportunities too occurred, in which his in- 
tegrity, unknown to him, was put to the proof, and re- 
mained inviolate. His sensibility was manifested on 
several occasions ; and the delicacy of his sentiments 
was ever more apparent in his actions than in his con- 
versation. These excellent qualities soon gained him 
the esteem of his two masters, and that esteem soon 
ripened into friendship. 



191 

iiui his conduct, while it obtained the esteem, re- 
newed the paternal sorrow of Honorious. He com- 
pared this excellent youth with the inconsiderate son 
he had lost, and burst into tears. Habituated now to 
open his whole heart to Ludovicus, he one day men- 
Uoned to him this inexhaustible source of grief. 
•' Alas ! my dear friend, said he, my life alone can 
terminate' my grief. I had once a son, but all fathers 
are not fortunate. You tell me that you lament the 
loss of an aifectionate father. O cruel singularity of 
fate ! That father is no more, who might have re- 
joiced to behold the virtues of such a son, and I — I. 
alas! still live." At these words he affectionately 
pressed his hand, and bedew^ed it wdth tears. The 
emotion of Ludovicus may be better conceived than 
described. With diificulty could he keep his secret ; 
but he was afraid of losing all his merit by an untimely 
discovery ; and he did not think that he had yet de- 
served forgiveness. 

The affairs of the two friends had turned out pros- 
perously ever since Ludovictrs had entered into their 
service, and they w^re too generous to conceal from 
him that it was owing to bis management ; they even 
thought it their duty to reward his services, and ad- 
tnitied him inco partnership. This favour flattered 
Ludovicus, not so much as a means of advancement, 
as a testimony and token of a friendship that was ex- 
tremely dear to him. 

Some days ailer, the ill health of Honorious alarmed 
all his son's tenderness, and placed his sensibiUty in 
the most endearmg light. Every moment that he was. 



192 

not obliged to give to the counting-house^ he attend- 
ed near his father's bed. Pretending he understood 
something of physic, he prepared, himself, all the me- 
dicines which had been ordered, and would suffer no 
one else to administer them. He attended his father 
every day ; he watched him in the night ; and had this 
indisposition lasted long, he must have been taken ill 
himself with fatigue and grief. This tender behaviour 
could not but augment the affection of Honorious, 
who would scarce allow him to leave him a moment. 
Sometimes he would affectionately regard him, and 
exclaim, " Alas ! why did not Heaven allow me lo be 
your father !" Thenhe would relate the misconduct of 
his son. This relation punished and afflicted Ludo- 
vicus ; but the demonstrations of friendship that ac- 
companied it soon consoled him. How often was he 
upon the point of discovering himself! but fear as of- 
ten restrained him. No, said he, let me remain what 
I am, since I am thus happy, and why should I recall 
what I have been, when I would fain forget it myself? 
I have the esteem and friendship of my father, and 
why should I hazard both ? Ludovicus is esteemed 
and beloved ; Frederick, perhaps, would be hated. 

He continued to console himself for the chagrin of 
not being able to call Honorious his father, by paying 
him all the duties of a son. Such was the life he led : 
a peaceful and resigned hfe, which his heart preferred 
to all the giddy and tumultuous days which had ren- 
dered him so culpable. 

But his heart, although changed, was not become 
insensible. Ludovicus saw and conversed too often 



193 

with Marianne not to be captivated by such an assem- 
blage of bodily and mental charms. He had endea- 
voured to stifle this passion in its infancy ; but how 
vain was the attempt, when he was obliged to behold 
the object that could rekindle it at a single glance ! 
Besides, not only the consciousness of what he really 
was contributed to embolden him, but Florio had 
often given him to understand that he should not be 
displeased to find him agreeable to his daughter. This 
was sufficient to encourage a heart less tender than 
that of Ludovicus, and he accordingly indulged the 
delightful idea that such a passion and such an object 
could inspire. But Ludovicus, that audacious con- 
queror, with whom a declaration of love was once a 
jest, could now scarce permit even his looks to speak. 
They were expressive enough to be interesting. On 
the other hand, his amiable manners and various ac- 
complishments, not to mention his excellent character, 
and the high estimation in which he was held by her 
father, could not fail to make some impression on the 
tender heart of Marianne. In a word, Ludovicus 
soon obtained the avowal of a love, which, perhaps, 
he had inspired before he had ventured to declare 
his own. 

I should here observe, that the two fathers had, 
ihany years before, formed the idea of cementing their 
friendship by the marriage of their children. But the 
misconduct of Frederick, his disgraceful flight, and 
supposed death, had long destroyed this once favour- 
ite idea. One day, then, Florio, after a consultation 
with Honorious, sent for Ludovicus, and ofl*ered him. 



194 

his daughter. The happy lover accepted the offer 
with transports of gratitude and joy. Some days after, 
when the notary and witnesses were assembled to see 
the contract signed, Ludovicus found that he coukl 
no longer preserve his secret, and he trembled at 
the idea. Never had he been in such a situation of 
terror and apprehension. His embarrassment was 
too visible not to be remarked. The two fathers 
inquired the cause. " Can you forgive this appear- 
ance of distress in the happiest moment of my life r 
But a consent is still wanting to my happiness." 
" What consent ?" exclaimed Honorious, " you have 
no father." " I know not, sir," answered Ludovicus, 
throwing himself at his feet, " whether I have yet a 
father ; you alone can resolve it. Behold the guilty- 
Frederick, who deserves your severest rigour ; I have 
long remained concealed, that I might expiate my 
faults by unquestionable penitence. You have seen 
me, not what 1 once was, but what I hope ever to be." 
Imagine the surprize, the joy, the transports of the 
father ! Imagine the happiness of Florio and Mari- 
anne ! Scenes like this must be imagined ; they 
cannot be described. Frederick was united to the 
charming Marianne. The news of his restoration 
was communicated to the good uncle, who, in the 
joy of his heart, settled his whole fortune upon him ; 
and Frederick long lived an example of all the vii*- 
tues that could result from his heroic penitence, and 
of all the felicity that could arise from his union with 
»uch a bride. 



lao 



YOUTHFUL IMPRUDENCE. 



SerEx\a Granville, with a figure lovely as if form- 
pd by the fingers of love, possessed a mind fraught 
with every accompHshment, and the most refined 
and delicate taste. To these beauties, she added the 
fascinating charms of a faultless temper, and a height 
of spirits, sometimes arising almost to an excess. 
Whenever she moved, she attracted and fixed the 
wandering eyes of the beholders; whenever she 
spoke, she enchanted the senses, and w^on the hearts 
of her hearers. Among the train of her numerous 
admirers, none shone so greatly pre-eminent, for the 
graces of his figure, and the beauties of his mind, as 
the youthful Frederick Cavendish. The soul of 
Serena w^as above affectation. She despised the cruel 
despotism of tyrannizing over a generous heart ; and 
she hesitated not to confess the power which he pos- 
sessed in her bosom. For family reasons, two 
months were to elapse before the day could be ap- 
pointed for their union. During the intermediate 
time, a party was formed for the theatre ; Cavendish 
held a commission in the guards ; and some unex- 
pected military business occurring, it prevented him 
from attending his fair amcmte to Drury Lane. But 
Lady Granville wished not to be disappointed ; and 
therefore went with her daughter, and Julia Cecil, 
her niece. During the play. Miss Cecil observed 
an elegant young man, in naval uniform, enter the 



nexi box ; slie pointed him out to Serena, whose eyes 
encountered his as she gazed on his lovely counte- 
nance. The accident embarrassed her, and she has- 
tily looked down. At the finale of the after piece, a 
gentleman entered their box; who, suddenly spring- 
ing from his seat, and stretching over, shook the 
young officer cordially by the hand, exclaiming, *' Ha, 
Richard Wade ! what brought you here ? Where are 
you P" At St. Jameses Hotel, where I hope you will 
sup with me. His friend consented, and they both 
sprung out of the box. A young puppy ! exclaimed 
Serena, not to give us one parting glance ! Never 
mind, interrupted her cousin ; they are not worth 
wishing for. 

When the two girls arrived at home, and had en- 
tered their own chamber, from a critique on the ac- 
tors, their discourse fell, insensibly, on the charms of 
the graceful sailor. They admired his uncommon 
beauty ; and laughed at each other for the little no- 
tice which he appeared to have taken of either. I 
Would venture my life, cried Serena, that he is a con- 
ceited fellow ; a creature who can admire none but 
himself. I have a strong inclination to play hhn a 
trick. How do you mean ? you do not know him. 
That is of no consequence. I will write to him, that 
I am violently in love with him, &c. &c. subscribe a 
false name, and desire him to direct to the Salopian 
Coflfee- House, where my servant shall call for his 
reply. "Good heavens, Serena! what an instantane- 
ous arrangement! You are surely not serious ?" "Yes, 
serious as when I shall give my hand to Frederick, 



19? 

and vow to be his forever, I will write the letter thi= 
moment." She seized a pen, and immediately be- 
gan to scribble. Julia was thunderstruck. " What I* 
your intention. The young man will certainly an- 
swer your letter." "That is what 1 want. I will re- 
ply again ; and so on, till I have worked him up al- 
most to madness with curiosity ! and then I will 
throw away my quill, and leave him like an amazed 
knight, dropped by the fairies in a wilderness. Dis- 
covery is impossible." 

When she had finished her epistle, she read it to 
her friend. It contained an eloquent avowal of a 
fervent attachment, which she could no longer con- 
ceal ; that her heart, hand, and fortune, waited his ac- 
ceptance ; and that she should anticipate, with 
trembling anxiety, his reply, addressed to Miss Lucre- 
tia Manners, to be left at the Salopian Coffee-House. 
In vain were all the remonstrances of Miss Cecil 
against the imprudence and dangers of this scheme. 
Her cousin persisted in her design ; declaring that it 
was only a frolic, and there could no evil consequen- 
ces ensue, as he could never find them out ; and they 
would surely not be such fools as to betray their own 
secret. Accordingly, the next morning, she sent off 
her billet-doux, directed to Richard Wade, Esq. St, 
James's Hotel. 

The following day, at noon, she ordered her servant 
to call at the Salopian, and inquire for a letter, address- 
ed as she had desired. The two girls, from different 
motives, were equally anxious for the return of the 
footman. At last he entered, and gave into the im- 



198 

patient hands of his young ladj the wished for scroll. 
When he left the room, she tore open the seal, and 
perused, with a greedy eye ; then read, with a voice 
almost suffocated with laughter, a long string of rhap- 
sodies. He commenced with an inundation of prais- 
es of the generosity of her disposition, that could so 
nobly burst through the disgraceful shackles bound 
round her sex, by the united efforts of all mankind, 
to render him happy by the confession of a passion 
so flattering to his warmest wishes. He concluded 
by saying, that if the beanty of her person but half 
equalled the charms of the mind which dictated her 
letter, he should forever esteem it the most blissful 
moment of his life that presented him to her view. 
He ended by requesting an immediate interview. 

Serena was mad with joy at the success of her plot ; 
and instantly sat down to scribble an answer. Julia 
again urged her to desist, but all to no purpose ; she 
would plague him yet a little longer. In this impm- 
dent conduct she continued for near a fortnight, wri- 
ting and receiving letters every day ; and, in almost 
every one of them, inventing new excuses for deny- 
ing a personal conversation. Richard Wade's impa- 
tience, in each succeeding epistle, increased so 
much, that she could hardly find reasons for her refu- 
sals, which could appear of any consequence, as in 
his replies she had arguments to combat, and must 
conquer them all. Miss Cecil grew more alarmed ; 
and begged her, for heaven's sake, to give it up ; for 
she dreaded the most disagreeable eflects, should it 
be discovered. But Serena was obstinate, declared 



199 

that it was impossible, and continued the correspou 
dence. 

One morning, when Miss Granville sat alone in the 
drawing-room, w aiting the return of her servant from 
the Salopian, she insensibly fell into a reverie ; and, 
leaning her blooming cheek on her white arm, which 
rested on the sopha, her thoughts wandered from the 
anticipation of that day which was soon to give her 
to her dear Frederick, to the elegant sailor, and his 
disappointment when she should drop answering his 
letters. At this instant the gentle Cavendish entered ; 
he had stolen the first moment from military duty, to 
spend a few blissful minutes in the society of his 
adored Serena. He approached her unperceived ; 
and tenderly taking her hand, in a voice sweet as the 
softest sigh of love, demanded what was the subject 
of her reflections. She started at the sound of his 
loved accents, and blushed at the question. The idea 
that any other man than himself should, for one in- 
stant, possess her thoughts, struck a chill to her heart : 
the vivid glow of shame, which diffused itself over 
her cheek, flashed a ray of truth on her understand- 
ing ; and her soul acknowledged, with gratitude and 
self-reproach, the rejected remonstrances of her friend. 

As the heavenly orbs of Frederick were bent on 
her's with ineffable tenderness, he beheld, with won- 
der and anguish, the confusion into which his ques- 
tion appeared to have thrown her. " Have I given, 
you pain, my Serena ? I was impertinent ; but, be- 
lieve me, I did not intend it. Will you pardon me ?' 
He pressed her hand to give force to his asseveration.. 



mo 

" I have nothing to pardon : you did not hurt me. I 
was only ashamed to speak the truth, for I was really 
thinking of nothing." She blushed still deeper as she 
uttered this falsehood, and cast her eyes down to con- 
ceal her embarrassment. The penetrating orbs of 
Cavendish were fixed on her face ; he observed its 
changes with an unaccountable anguish ; and, un- 
consciously dropping her hand, with a deep sigh, rose 
from his cbair and advanced to the window. At this 
instant, the doar burst open, and a young mPiPhish- 
ing in, flung himself at the feet of Miss Gran "iUe, ex- 
claiming, " Have I found ray mysterious iove ! By 
heaven ! no earthly power shall tear your lovely form 
from this faithful bosom." Suddenly rising, he clasp- 
ed her to his breast. Cavendish, who stood petrified 
with astonishment and indignation, now rushed for- 
ward, and seizing Wade by the arm, rudely pulled 
him from his hold, and demanded who he was. 

" This lady's lover and protector, sir," replied he, 
in a threatening tone. Serena, wild and dumb with 
terror, threw herself into the arms of Frederick, who, 
smothering his passion, cried, " you are certainly mad, 
sir I This is a woman of virtue, and my betrothed 
wife ; I therefore desire you to leave this house in- 
stantly." " No, sir, I shall not, without she accompa- 
nies me. I have letters under her own hand, decla- 
ring her love for me, and her abhorrence of all other 
men ; she will not deny it ; but I suppose you are 
the persecuting coward she complains of." The azure 
eyes of Cavendish flashed all heaven's lightnings ; he 
cast the frantic Serena from his arm, and rushing for- 



201 

ward, " intruding, insolent villain ! jrour blood shall 
blot the falsehood." So saying, he drew, and made 
a furious pass at him with his sword. Wade expected 
it, and, parrying the thrust, made a lounge at him, 
and run him through the side. The unfortunate Fre- 
derick fell. Wade advanced to Serena, who stood 
livetted like a statue of despair. " Come, my Lucre- 
tia, let us fly this place, my life is in danger." " Mon- 
ster !, murderer!" screamed she; and giving him a 
viol£.a4*:ush from her, threw him to the ground, and 
flew sbrieking out of the room. In his fall he stum- 
bled ovei^h, part of Frederick's sword, as it leaned 
against the lifeless form of its master. Before he could 
recover himaelf, it ran him quite through the thigh, 
and he dropped, bleeding and faint, beside the body 
of him he had slain. All the horrors of his situation 
rushed on his mind. He knew not him he had killed ; 
perhaps an injured man ; and he had forfeited his owl) 
life for, perhaps, an abandoned woman ! 

In a few minutes the room was crowded with peo- 
pie. Julia flew into her apartment, and seeing the 
breathless form of Cavendish on the floor, and near 
him the young sailor bleeding to death, an explana- 
tion of the whole aff*air rushed on her memory. She 
flung herself between the two bodies, and tearing off 
her white drapery, attempted to stanch the wounds of 
both ; while she besought, for God's sake, that some 
one would fly for a surgeon. Her commands were 
instantly obeyed. Serena was held, in a state of mad- 
ness, at the door, by her mother and two servants, 
begging that she might be sufl*ered to go in and die or 

26 



202 

the bosom of her Frederick. The sur2:eoii arrivinsr, 
ordered her to her chamber, to which she was hurriedj 
raving of her folly and misery, and immediately pro- 
ceeded to the assistance of the two unfortunate offi- 
cers. Mr. Wade was yet sensible; the bandages of 
Miss Cecil had stopped the effusion of blood*, but 
poor Cavendish lay without motion or sensation. As 
the surgeon advanced to the side of the young sailor, 
he, by a strong exertion, repulsed him, and begged 
that he would first examine the wound of his antago- 
nist, which he hoped was not mortal. Mr. A. obey- 
ed his desires, and ordering the servants to lay Cav- 
endish on the sofa, commanded every one but his 
own assistants to leave the room. When the sur- 
geon had examined and dressed the wounds of the 
young men, he saw them carefully put to bed, 
and ordered them to be kept in profound quiet. 
As he was going down stairs, Lady Granville, in a 
state of distraction, sent for him into her boudoir, and 
intreated him to tell her if there w ere any hopes for 
Mr. Cavendish. Mr. A. said he would not flatter her ; 
his w^ound was not mortal, but his loss of blood had 
been so great that the most fatal consequences might 
be expected, " But the other gentleman," continued 
he, " if he is kept free from a fever, will certainly re- 
cover." " The other gentleman," replied she, " I 
know nothing about. Indeed, I am ignorant of the 
whole affair. My daughter flew into my chamber, 
screaming, ' He is killed! Cavendish is killed !' and 
this is all I know of the terrible scene, as she has ever 
since been in a state of delirium." At these words. 



203 

the physician who had been sent for to Serena, while 
Mr. A. was with her lover, entered the room, and told 
Lady Granville that her daughter was in a high fever, 
and iTinst be kept composed, else he could not answer 
for her life. 

In this state of distress and anxiety things continued 
for three days. Miss Cecil, who knew well the thought- 
less transaction of her cousin, imagined too truly the 
cause of this fatal catastrophe; and while all the par- 
lies yet lived, she earnestly sought an opportunity of 
explaining so sad a mysteiy. She tenderly loved her 
friend ; she mourned the wild vivacity of disposition 
that had seduced her into so imprudent an action : 
and her heart was wrung with agony for her present, 
and, if she lived, future suiTerings. The insinuating 
gentleness of Frederick Cavendish had made too deep 
an impression on her esteem, not to draw bitter 
tears from her eyes, when she contemplated his un- 
happy fate. But the beautiful, the deceived Wade ! 
when his lovely form shot axiross her distracted fancy, 
her whole soul was torn with torture. The thought 
of his dying, of his recovering, and of that recovery's 
disgraceful, horrid consequences, almost bereft her 
of her reason ; and, impelled by the anguish of the 
moment, she flew to the entrance of his apartment, 
with what design she knew not. As she gently 
opened the door, she found that he was in a profound 
slumber; and, commanding the nurse to go and lay 
down for a few hours, promised to watch by her 
charge till her return. She remained near half an 
hour in the room : Richard, awaking from his sleep, 



204 

and heaving a deep sigh, stretched forth his arm, 
and drew aside the curtain. When his dark eyes 
met those of Miss Cecil, he felt an unusual emotion 
at his breast; an emotion of gratitude, hope, and 
dread. 

She arose, and gently advancing nearer to him, in= 
quired, in a trembling voice, which too plainly ex- 
pressed the interest which she took in his situation, 
how he found himself. He replied, that he was bet- 
ter than he wished to be ; for the feelings of his mind 
were more than he could endure with fortitude. " If 
my adversary dies," continued he, " and I survive, 
even should 1 escape the punishment of the law, I 
shall ever be wretched at the recollection of so dread- 
ful an effect of my credulity and rashness." He was 
proceeding to give Miss Cecil a narrative of the cor- 
respondence between him and Miss Granville ; first, 
expressing his anxiety and doubts about the mystery 
which enveloped the whole affair ; when Julia inter- 
rupted him by saying that she knew it too well, and 
long ago had warned her cousin of its evil effects. 
" But," continued she, " had I felt the distant forebo- 
ding of this its fatal conclusion, I would have used 
commands instead of entreaties to have stopped the 
deception." " Deception ! how madam ! was it de- 
ception? Surely I am a stranger to your friend; 
what could be her meaning ?" " An idle frohc, with- 
out design or end, but to entertain herself. She 
thought to amuse her whimsical moments with an 
adventure, which certainly was innocent, though im- 
prudent. She conceived that she could lay it aside 



205 

whenever she pleased ; but, alas ! how agonizingly 
otherwise has been its termination !" " Agonizing, 
indeed ! Most probably, she has rendered both her 
own heart and mine miserable for Hfe. Horrid as 
must be my feelings, yet how much more racking 
must be hers, when she recollects, that it Avas her 
conduct that put the sword in my hand, and plunged 
it into the bosom of her affianced husband. Could 
she imagine that any man would receive such letters 
as those which she wrote to me, and not feel his whole 
soul fired with curiosity ? At least, the impetuosity 
of my nature spurned at restraint ; and my impa- 
tience hurried me to the coffee-house, where I watch- 
ed till her servant called for my letter; when he re- 
turned home, I followed him ; and these, these are 
the overwhelming consequences !" His strength w'as 
exhausted, and he sunk back on his pillow. Julia » 
conscious that she was hurting the man for whom, 
the feelings of her heart too forcibly told her, she fell 
that in reality which her cousin so fatally feigned, 
hastily arose; and, entreating him to compose his 
mind, said she would snatch the first opportunity to 
impart the truth of the melancholy history to Caven- 
dish ; whose principal danger, she believed, rested on 
the tortured state of his spirit. He caught her hand, 
and fervently pressing it, she darted out of the room, 
the soft touch of his hand thrilling to her inmost soul. 
In the evening, she sent up her affectionate compli- 
ments to Mr. Cavendish, and if he would admit her, 
she would be happy to watch an hour by him alone. 
He replied, that he wished to see her. She ascendied 



.206 

ihe stairs, tier heart beating with hope and tear of the 
effects of what she was going to reveal. 

When she entered his chamber, and drew near hi>^ 
bed, she beheld the late blooming Frederick pale as 
marble : the effulgent lustre of his azure eyes was 
almost extinguished : the last gleams of its fading 
light seemed resting on the dark horizon of death, as 
if to take a last view of the world, and sink forever. 
He laid his burning hand on hers, and gazed at her 
with an expression that needed no explanation : it 
penetrated to her heart, and she burst into tears. 
Recovering herself, she said, Mr. Cavendish, will 
yoii—rcan I hope for your pardon ? I have been, in 
a great part, the cause of the dismal scene that is 
now before me. You, Julia ! How ? — ^For heaven's 
sake, explain ; and either dissipate my suspicions, or 
convince me they are true, and end my tortures by 
killing me. O ! is Serena unworthy of my love ? 
Miss Cecil, with a faultering voice, interrupted by 
many show^ers of tears, revealed the whole transac- 
tion ; only a little altering the truth, by as much as 
possible meliorating the folly of her friend, and ta- 
king the blame on herself. When she ended, the de- 
jected orbs of Frederick beamed with renovated 
radiance ; he clasped his hands in an ecstacy of joy. 
O 1 my God, I thank thee ! Juha, my kind friend ! 
fly to my unhappy Serena : tell her that I forgive her ; 
speak peace to her suffering soul ; and tell her to live 
for me. To know that my dear girl is innocent, and 
yet fondly loves me, has infused new life into my dy- 
ing frame. Fly, my dear Julia, and render your 



207 

sweet friend as liappy as myself! She rose, her eyes 
overfloAving with tears of rapture ; and, advancing to 
the door, turned back two or threfe steps, and faintly 
breathed, in a trecnbling voice, and may I not also 
tell the unfortunate Wade that you forgive the rash- 
ness which, endangering your existence, has brought 
himself to the verge of the grave ? Yes, Julia ; tell 
him every thing that you would wish me to say. 

Julia flew to the chamber of Miss Granville ; her 
delirium was subsided ; but it had left on her languid 
frame a slow^ fever, and on her mind a deep and 
settled melancholy. Miss Cecil, with some difficul- 
ty, gained her cousin's attention. Notwithstanding 
her utmost precaution, the unexpected and blissful 
intelligence rendered her almost frantic with joy. 
Nothing was now w^anting but the recovery of all 
parties to make them perfectly happy. A few weeks 
gave once more strength to their limbs and beauty to 
their features; health cast her dazzling rays around 
their forms ; so powerful an effect had the serenity of 
their minds over the composure of tbcir frames. Fre 
derick Cavendish and Richard Wade entered the 
drawing-room together; Serena, overwhelmed with 
the consciousness of her fault, burst into tears, and 
flung herself on the breast of her cousin. Her lover 
flew forward ; and gently raising her from her bosom, 
encircled his graceful arms around her yielding waist ; 
and while his tears mingled with hers, imprinted the 
hallowed kiss of pardon and afi"ection on her trem- 
bling lips. 

The. sympathizing heart of Julia heaved almost tK> 



208 

bursting, and the lucid drops of extatic emotion feU 
on her ivory arms ; when the well known touch of 
the soft hand of Richard Wade roused her from her 
bhssful trance. She raised her swimming eyes, and 
beheld the man whom she adored kneeling at her 
feet. His eloquent eyes spoke a thousand tender 
things ; his tongue could only utter " Beloved 
Juha!" The crimson blush of delight and confusion 
suffused her face and panting bosom. She felt sick ; 
and fell almost fainting on the arm of the sopha. 
" Are you offended ?" asked he, in a scarcely articu- 
late voice. " O, no !" was all she could utter, as she 
gently returned the fervent pressure of his hand. 

A week after this happy eclaircissement, the hand 
of Serena was given to Frederick Cavendish ; and 
that of Julia to the enraptured Richard Wade. 

I shall not attempt to point out the moral of this 
little tale; it is too obvious to require an explanation. 
I shall only add, that as imprudence is almost a con- 
stant property of youth, it is a frailty of disposition 
which ought to be most carefully corrected. A little 
reflection will convince the mind, that from the 
slightest failures on that side, the greatest and most 
dreadful consequences have frequently proceeded. 



HAMET AND BERARD, OR THE THREE THIEVES. 

Three rogues in the vicinity of Lan, uniting the 
ingenuity of their talents, had for a considerable time 
put both Monks and Laymen under contribution. 



209 

As they were walking together one day in the 
woods of Lan, and talking of their several feats of 
dexterity, Hamet, the eldest of the^two brothers, es- 
pied a magpie's nest at the top of a lofty oak, and 
saw the mother fly into it. " Brother,'^ said he to 
Berard, " what would you say to a person that should 
propose to go and take the eggs from under that bird 
without disturbing her ?" " I should tell him," answer- 
ed the younger brother, " that he was a fool, and pro- 
posed a thing entirely impossible ?" " Observe me." 
This said, he immediately climbs the tree. Having 
reached the nest, he makes a hole underneath, receives 
softly in his hand the eggs, as they slip through the 
opening, and brings them down, desiring his compan- 
ions to obsei-ve that not a single egg was broken. " By 
my soul," cries Berard, "I must allow you to bean in- 
comparable thief; but if you could go and replace the 
eggs under the mother as quietly as you have taken 
them from her, we should acknowledge you our 
master." 

Hamet accepted the challenge, and again mounts 
the tree ; but his brother designed a trick upon him. 
The latter, as soon as he sees the other at a certain 
height, says to Travers, " you have just been a wit- 
ness to Hamet's dexterity, you shall see what I can 
do in the same way." He instantly climbs the tree, 
and follows his brother from branch to branch, and 
w^hile the latter has his eyes fixed upon the nest, en^ 
tirely taken up with his design, and watching every 
motion of the bird, the slippery rogue loosens his 
trowsers. and brings them down as a signal of tri- 



£10 

iimpii. Hamet, in the mean time, contrives to replace 
all the eggs, and coming down, looks for the praise 
due to so clever an exploits " Oh, you only want to 
deceive us," said Berard, '^ I'll wager that you have 
concealed the eggs in your trowsers." The other 
looks, sees that his trowsers are gone, and soon finds 
out the trick of his brother. Excellent rogue, said 
he, to outwit anot er. As for Travers, he was lost 
in equal admiration of these two heroes, and could 
not determine which had the advanta2:e. But he 
felt himself humbled at their superiority, and piqued 
at not being able to contend with them, cried, "I re- 
nounce thieving forever ; 1 have good strong arms, 
and will return home and live with my wife ; with the 
help of God, I shall be able to procure a subsistence.^' 
He fulfilled his declaration, and returned to his vil- 
lage. His wife loved him ; he became an honest 
man, and set himself to work with so much industrj'^, 
that at the close of a few months he had earned 
wherewithal to buy a hog. The animal was fatten- 
ed at home : at Christmas he killed it, and having 
hung it, in the usual way, against the wall, he went 
into the fields. 

The two brothers, who had not seen him since 
their separation, came at this very time to pay him a 
visit. The wife was alone spinning. She told them 
that her husband was just gone out, and that he would 
not return till night. 

At night, when Travers returned, his wife told him 
of the visit she had received. "I was veiy much 
alarmed," said she, " at being alone with them ; they 



211 

had so suspicious an appearance that I did not ven- 
ture to ask either their names or business. But 
they searched every corner with their eyes ; I don't * 
think a single peg escaped their notice." " It must 
have been my tvi^o queer companions," cried Travers, 
in great trouble; " my hog is lost, and I now heartily 
wish I had sold it." "We still have a resource" repli- 
ed the wife, " let us take down the pork, and hide it 
somewhere, for the night. To-morrow morning you 
may consider what is to be done," Travers adopted 
his wife's advice. He took down the pork, and laid 
it under the bread oven, at the opposite end of the 
room, after which he laid down, but not with an easy 
mind. 

Night being come, the two brothers came to ac- 
complish their project ; and whilst the eldest kept 
watch, Berard began to penetrate the wall in that 
part where he had seen the pork hanging. But he 
quickly perceived that nothing remained but the string 
by which it was suspended. " The bird is flown" said 
he, " and we have come too late." Travers, whom 
the dread of being robbed kept awake, thinking he 
heard a noise, awaked his wife, and ran to the oven 
to feel if the pork was safe, he found it there, but as 
he was apprehensive also for his barn and stables, 
he determined to make the circuit of them, and went 
out armed with a hatchet. Berard, who heard him 
go out, took the advantage of that opportunity to 
force open the door, and approaching the bed, and. 
counterfeiting the voice of the husband, "Mary," saidf 
he, " the pork is removed from the wall; what have 



212 

yoti done with if "Don't jou remember that we put 
it under the oven," answered the wife ; " What, has 
fearturned jonr brain ?" " No, no, 1 had only forgot — 
but stop, I will secure it." In saying which, he Ufted it 
upon his shoulders, and made off. 

After having gone his rounds, and visited carefully 
his doors, Travers returned to his chamber. " I have 
got a husband,'' said the woman " who, it must be 
confessed, has got a curious head upon his shoulders, 
to forget one moment what he has done with his pork 
another." At these words Travers set up aery ; " I told 
you they w^ould steal it from me ; it is gone, and I 
shall never see it again." Yet as the thieves could 
not be gone far, he had still some hopes of recovering 
it, and instantly ran after them. 

Hamet went before to secure the way, and the 
brother, whose load was a considerable impediment, 
followed him at a small distance. Travers soon 
came up with the latter; he saw^ him plainly, .mnd re- 
cognised him. " You must be somewhat tired, said 
he," assuming the voice of the elder brother, " give 
me the load, and let me take my turn." Berard, who 
thought his brother had been speaking to him, gives 
Travers the pork, and wajks oig*^ But he had not 
proceeded one hundred yards, ere, to his great as- 
tonishment, he falls in with Hamet ; " Zounds, cried 
he, I have been ensnared ; that rogue Travers has 
taken me in : but see if I cannot make amends for 
yny folly." 

He then strips himself, and puts his shirt over his 
cijothes ; makes himself a kind of woman's cap, and 

\ 



21S 

ill that trim runs as fast as he can by another path to 
the house of Travers, whose arrival he waits for at 
the floor. As he sees him approaching, he comes, ap- 
pearing as his wife, to meet Travers, and asks, with 
a feigned voice, whetlicr he had recovered the pork. 
"Yes, I have it," answered the husband. " Well, give 
it to me, and run quickly to the stable, for I heard a 
noise there, and I fear they have broke in." Travers 
throws the carcase upon the others shoulders, and 
goes once more to make his round. But when he 
returns into the house, he is surprised to find his wife 
in bed crying, and half dead with fear. He then 
perceived that he had been cheated again. Never- 
theless, he was determined not to give out, and as if 
his honour were concerned in this adventure, he vov«f- 
ed not to give up the contest, till by some means or 
other he came off victorious. 

He suspected that the thieves this trip would no! 
take the same road, but he knew the forest w^as the 
place they w^ould make for, and accordingly went the 
nearest way for it. They had, in fact, already got 
there, and in their triumphal eagerness to taste the 
fruit of their dexterity, they had just lighted a fire at 
the foot of an oak, to boil a piece of the meat. The 
wood was green, and burned but indifferently, so that, 
to make it blaze, they w^ere obliged to go and gather 
some dried leaves and rotten branches. 

Travers, whom the light soon directed to the 
thieves, takes the advantasre of their distance from the 
fire. He strips himself entirely naked, climbs the oak, 
and suspends himself by one arm^ in the position of 



214 

one Who had been hanged, and when he sees the 
rogues returned, and busy in blowing the fire, he 
roars out with a voice like thunder, " Unhappy ^ 
wretches, you will come to the same end with me." 
The two brothers, in confusion, imagine they see and 
hear their father, and think of nothing but their escape. 
The other quickly snatches his clothes and his pork, 
returns in triumph to his wife, and gives her an ac- 
count of his recent victory. She congratulates him 
with a kiss, on so bold and well executed a manoeu- 
vre. " Let us not flatter ourselves with too much se- 
curity," said he, " these queer fellows are not far off, 
and so long as the pork exists, 1 shall not think it out 
of danger. But boil some water, we will dress it, and 
if they return, we shall see what method they will di- 
vine this time to get hold of it again." The one then 
made a fire, while the other divided the carcase ; they 
dien put it, piece by piece, into the kettle. They both 
then seated themselves to watch it, one on each side 
of the fire-place. 

But Travers, who was almost exhausted for want of 
rest, and fatigued by the operations of the night, soon 
began to show a propensity to sleep. " Go and lay 
yourself down," said the wife, " I will take care of the 
pot ; all is fastened, there is nothing to fear ; and at 
all events, if I should hear a noise, I will give you 
notice." 

On this assurance, he threw himself upon the bed 
in his clothes, and immediately fell fast asleep. The 
wife continued for some time to watch the caldron, 
but at last fell asleep also. 



216 

In the mean time, our thieves, after recovering from 
their alarm, had returned to the oak, but finding there 
neither pork or man in chains, they easily unravelled 
the plot. 

Before they undertook any thing, Berard looked 
through the hole he had made in the wall, to see if 
the enemy were upon the guard. He saw upon the 
one hand, Travers stretched upon the bed, and on the 
other, his wife, whose head nodded from side to side, 
with a ladle in one hand, while the pork was boiling 
in the caldron. " They had a mind to save us the 
trouble of dressing it," said Berard to his brother^ 
" and indeed it is the least they could do, consider- 
ing what trouble they have given us already. Be 
steady, and rest assured I wdil help you to some 
of it." He then goes and cuts down a long pole, 
which he sharpens at one end; with this pole he 
climbs up the roof, and letting it down through the 
chimney, he sticks it into a piece of pork, and raise-^ 
it up. 

Travers at that instant happened to awake ; he saw 
the manoeuvre, and judged, that with such expert ene- 
mies, peace was preferable to war. '• Friend," cried 
he, " you have not done right in breaking through 
the roof of my house, and I have also been to blame 
in not inviting you to partake of the pork. Let us 
contend no longer for the superiority in artifice, for h 
is a contest that would never end ; but come down 
and let us feast together." 

He went and opened the door for them ; they sat 
down at table together, and were heartily reconciled 
to each other. 



216 



EXAMPLE BETTER THAN PRECEPT. 

" Three thousand ayear~~aboxat the opera, and a 
new vis-a-vis — trifles, trifles," exclaimed Saville ; (a 
young gentleman of twenty-two who had just taken 
possession of an estate of twenty thousand pounds 
per annum, which an old penurious uncle of his, 
lately departed, for sixty years had been scraping 
together with the most unremitting avarice) "the eclat 
of keeping so beautiful a creature is worth dou- 
ble that expense. She shall have it, I will sign the 
articles of agreement instantly" — " More fool you," 
replied Sir Henry Dormer, a friend and constant 
companion of his ; " take my advice, Jack, avoid these 
Circe's as you would a pestilence, they are the de- 
stroyers of a man's health, the miners of his estate, 
the murderers of his repose ; seek some amiable and 
accomplished woman,, marry and domesticate, for 
depend upon it, there is more real felicity in the fa- 
mily circle, than in the whole routine of fashionable 
pleasures, vices I ought to say, and dissipations."— 
"What, Satan turned preacher," replied Saville;" why 
thou most abominable hypocrite, art thou not asham- 
ed to hold forth this sanctimonious doctrine to one 
so perfectly acquainted with thy debaucheries as 1 
am ? Dost thou not at this very moment keep a mis- 
tress, to satisfy whose extravagance, and adorn whose 
person, the four quarters of the globe are ransacked ? 
thou too, ivho art a married man \'' 



217 

•• Your accusations are but too just," returned Sir 
Henry," and the consciousness of my folly renders me 
more fit to warn you of the rocks on which my own 
happiness has nearly foundered. It was my misfor- 
tune, early in life, to become acquainted with Har- 
riet MeadoAVS ; unhappily we had both passions, and 
in the gratification of them, virtue and prudence were 
forgot. This intrigue, which had been carried on 
three years with the greatest privacy, was, just be- 
fore I left college, I know not how, discovered. She 
lost her friends and reputation ; humanity obliged 
me to support and protect her ; youth is seldom the 
season of consideration — we lived in the first style — 
plunged into every extravagance ; and though I daily 
discovered some bad propensity in Harriet, yet I had 
not resolution to break with her ; twice I have been 
arrested for debts which she contracted entirely 
without my knowledge ; at length the immense sums 
I procured before I came of age reduced me to the 
necessity of mortgaging a large portion of my estate ; 
to disencumber which, with shame I confess it, I 
complied with the solicitations of my friends, and 
married the rich heiress of the house of Milford. You 
have seen Matilda, therefore an eulogium on her per- 
son will be unnecessary *, yet beautiful as she is, I led 
her to the altar mthout a spark of affection, so fast was 
I bound in the fascinating <^hains of Harriet, who con- 
sented to my maniage from the idea that the fortune 
of Matilda would enable me to support her in still 
greater extravagance : But the graces and elegance 
of T.adv Dormer's mind, her fine and exquisite ac- 



218 

domplishments, the softness of her manners, her ten- 
derness for me, unworthy as I am, which appears in 
all her blushing and delicate attentions, have gained 
my heart ; I am her lover and her husband, and am 
at this moment studying the means of getting rid 
quietly of Harriet, whose bad disposition and ill quali- 
ties appear every hour more obvious and intolerable." 
"Well, thou wouldst make an excellentMethodist par- 
son," said Saville, with a loud laugh ; ^^ what a sermon 
hast thou given me ; I am much obliged to you for 
your advice respecting matrimony, though I am not 
at all inclined to follow it ; it will be time enough 
for me to put on hymeneal fetters when I reach thy 
age ; I have six years to frolic in ; I must possess the 
divine signora ; my Lord Sparkle has offered her two 
thousand a year, and she condescends to sink the 
splendour of the title in favour of my youth for an- 
other thousand ; so come along Benedict, I am impa- 
tient to seal the agreement upon her coral lips." " Will 
you," said Sir Henry, " promise me one thing, Saville ;" 
" If it lies in my power, certainly ; but prithee, why 
that serious countenance, Henry ?" " Because," replied 
he, " I would, if possible, render you serious ; assure 
me by your honour and friendship you will not sign 
any articles with Rozella to day." " A day is an age 
to a man in love ; but friendship is a more exalted 
sentiment than love ; well, I promise, you shall this 
day dispose of me as you please, but to-morrow is 
devoted to love, rapture, and Rozella." " Now then," 
said Sir Henry, " strange as it may appear, after the 
advice I have just given you, you ^lust go with me to 



219 

Harriet ;" ^'Alons do7ic,^^ replied Saville, " I am at your 
service." It was early when they reached Portland 
Square, and Harriet was sitting at her toilet, when 
the friends were introduced into her dressing room, 
rejTairing the fading roses on her cheeks with French 
rouge ; in her hurry to conceal which, the box dropped 
from her hand, and the crimson contents fell upon 
the flowing train of her musHn chemise : this acci- 
dent and discovery discomposed the temper of Miss 
Meadows so much, that with aloud ^j^d authoritative 
voice, and a look indicative of the most violent dis- 
pleasure, she asked how he durst presume to break 
in upon her privacy, without first giving her notice, 
by sending up his name. Sir Henry had stooped to 
take up the box as it fell, and was presenting it to her 
as she finished this sentence ; but instead of receiving 
it, she gave him a slap on the face. He bowed, and 
politely told her, that alady's favours were always wel- 
come, and confessed he had done wrong in break- 
ingin upon the mysteries of her toilet ; but she ought to 
forgive him, as it had pointed out to him an art that 
she excelled in, which but for this discovery he 
should have rema;ined in absolute ignorance o^ 
namely^ the art of painting, which she appeared to 
be a perfect adept in. This little sarcasm was ad- 
ding fuel to fire, and Harriet, swelling with passion, 
and foaming at the mouth w^th rage, told him he 
w as an impudent fellow, and desired him to leave 
the house immediately, as she never wished to see 
his detested face again ; " I obey you with plea- 
sure," replied Sir Henry ; " you may depend, Madam^ 



220 

on this being my last intrusion ; I have the honour^ 
Madam, to wish you a good morning ;" he then took 
Saville by the arm, and was quitting the room. Still 
more and more enraged at his unshaken composure, 
Harriet flew like a tygress to the door, and catching 
hold of the skirts of bis coat, declared she would tear 
them off unless he returned ; threw the blame of her 
petulance upon him ; declared that her not seeing 
him for the three last days had deranged her intellects ; 
that she had never worn paint in her hfe till that 
morning, when being frightened at the ghastly pale- 
ness of her face, she had been induced to put on a 
little rouge, in order to look a little more like her 
former self ; that he had murdered her peace by his 
neglect ; vowed she would not survive the loss of his 
love ; and then falling on her knees, poured out the 
most horrible execrations on herself, him, and Lady 
Dormer, whom she loaded with eveiy opprobrious 
epithet. 

Sir Henry, who had listened to her ravings with 
the most perfect coolness till she mentioned his wife 
with disrespect, now interrupted her by clapping his 
hand before her mouth ; " do not," said he, " pro- 
fane the name of that angel ; with anguish, and the 
deepest sense of my own misconduct, I confess she 
has been too much wronged by my ill placed affec- 
tion to you already ; but here my follyceases ; rise 
and listen to me now ; your reign, Harriet, is at an 
end ; the badness of your disposition, the violence of 
your temper, united with your ingratitude, have ef- 
fected my release ; I no longer love you, nor will be a 



221 

patient slave to your ridiculous caprices ; yet still/' 
continued he, " I am inclined to be your friend, if you 
are disposed to act in such a manner as to deserve my 
friendship ; here our connexion ends ; but two hun- 
dred pounds a year for your life shall be your's, if you 
choose to accept of it ; I will no longer support your 
extravagances ; call in your debts, and such as I con- 
sider reasonable, I will discharge ; the furniture and 
plate in this house is your's, but the rent I will no 
longer be answerable for ; the carriage you had bet- 
ter dispose of, as you will find your finances not 
equal to the support of it. I will now," added he, '-put 
you in possession of two hundred pounds, as I should 
be sorry that you should suffer any inconvenience for 
want of money." Sir Henry then drew from his 
pocket a folded paper, which he told her contained 
a draft for the sum he had mentioned, and her pic- 
ture ; she took it, and tearing it open with fury, said, 
'^ I will stamp it to pieces ;" but it was not her like- 
ness, it was jL large elegant locket, richly ornamented, 
and the initials H. D. in brilliants upon the hair w^ork. 
Her eyes flashed fire. " Whose hair is this ?" said 
Harriet. "Mine," replied Sir Henry. " But it was 
not designed for me r" " No, indeed it was not ; I 
have made a mistake, here is your picture, that locket 
is for Lady Dormer." "They shall both have one fate," 
said the enraged Harriet, snatching the picture from 
the hand of Sir Henry, and dashing that and the 
locket on the floor, attempted to stamp on them. Sir 
Henry fortunately rescued the locket, but the picture 
she broke to pieces, Saville and Sir Henry laughed 



222 

immoderately at her absurd conduct. Doubly pro- 
voked at their mirth, she flew at Saville, who very 
narrowly escaped having the marks of her nails im« 
printed on his face ; but perceiving Sir Henry obli- 
ged to sit down from excessive laughter at the ridicu- 
lous situation of Saville, who scarce knew how to ex- 
tricate himself from the clutches of the furious Har- 
riet ; she quitted him, and seizing hold of Sir Henry's 
fine light hair, tore off a handful. " I will have hair 
for a locket too," said she, breathless with rage ; " it 
will become my bosom as well as it will that dowdy 
your wife's." Fits now succeeded, and throwing het- 
self on the floor, she performed all the contortions of a 
violent hysteric. Utterly regardless of her frantic ma- 
nceuvres, Sir Henry stepped coolly to the glass, ar- 
ranged his hair, and then, accompanied by Saville^ 
jquitted the house. 

" I now,'^ said SaviHe, as they walked along, " per- 
ceive the drift of the promise you obtained from me 
this morning; you wished me to see the behaviour of 
Hariiet before I attached myself to Rozella ; 'tis a 
bad specimen, I confess, and I am not half so eager 
on the business as I was ; but Rozella is all softness 
and delicacy. Besides, it is the fashion to keep a wo- 
man, and they are not all alike in disposition." " Near- 
ly," replied Sir Henry; " there is but too much re- 
semblance in their hearts, however they may differ 
in outward expressions ; to throw away your money 
as they please ; to make you the everlasting dupe of 
iheiY whims and follies ; to vent their ill tempers upon 
you, is the constant aijm of women of this descrip- 



223 

tion; and the ^eater their beauty, the more they con- 
sider themselves at liberty to display their ill hu- 
mour, and indulge themselves in extravagances ; they 
are composed of duplicity, and there is as much art 
in their persons as their minds. Witness the paint 
that Harriet took so much pains to conceal from us ; 
I declare I had not an idea of her artificial complex- 
ion; thus you see we are their dupes every way ; af- 
ter exhausting your whole fortune, after building them 
a triumphal car, you get treated with insolence and 
contempt, and dragged like a slave at the wheels ; but, 
thank my stars, I have procured a release from this 
degrading captivity." 

They had now reached Berkely S-quare ; in the draw- 
ing-room they found Laurina Darnley, a cousin of 
Lady Dormer's, for whom Sir Henry was guardian ; 
she had lately returned from France, where she had 
received, in the convent of St, Austerberge, her edu- 
cation, and had that morning arrived from Hertford 
shire, where she had been for a month on a visit to a 
maiden aunt, from whom she expected a considera- 
ble addition to her own large fortune. Miss Darnley 
was in her eighteenth year ; she had a melting lan- 
guor in her fine blue eyes, that told her soul was the 
seat of sensibility ; her form was airy and elegant as a 
wood nymph's ; her hair was a light glossy brown, u» 
sullied with powder, and hanging in long luxuriant 
ringlets down her back ; her coroplexion was dazzling 
fair, the rose bloomed upon her cheek, a thousand 
beautiful dimples played about her mouth, and the 
glowing ruby of her lips was finely contrasted by the- 



^24 

pearly whiteness of her teeth. Saville was struck 
with her beautj ; but when Sir Henry tenderly em- 
braced her, and presented her, blushing, to him, he 
thought he had never seen a woman so perfectly an- 
gelic. The grace and propriety with which she re- 
plied to his compliments, and the music of her voice^ 
absolutely fascinated him, and Rozella shrunk, as it 
w^ere, from his remembrance, destitute of elegance 
and beauty. Sir Henry inquired for Lady Dormer, 
and was told that she had retired to her dressing- 
room, rather indisposed, and had desired to be denied 
to all company that day. Sir Henry apologized for 
leaving them, and after having desired Saville to en- 
tertain Miss Darnley, proceeded towards the dressing 
room of Matilda ; he had determined to declare to her 
his connexion with Harriet, and his fixed determina- 
tion to break off with her entirely ; to tell her how ab- 
solutely she reigned mistress of his heart ; to intreat 
her forgiveness for his past errors and inattentions, and 
to vow at her feet everlasting affection and fidelity in 
future. With these resolutions, and a throbbing heart, 
lie reached the antechamber: the door of the dressing:- 
loom, which opened into it, stood half open, and he 
had an opportunity of observing Lady Dormer, unper- 
ceived by her. She was singing a little plaintive air, 
as she sat a-t her frame embroidering ; at length, 
making a pause and sighing deeply, " Friday next, 
my faithless, dear Henry, is your birthday ; and I," 
continued Matilda, " must get this waistcoat finished, 
that I may present it to him. O,' my aching heai't! 
were it possible, you flowers, that you could speak. 



225 

you would tell him that the willow, which droops its 
languid leaves, is emblematic of Matilda, who droops 
in his absence ; the cypress would tell him how she 
mourns ; and the roses, here and there scattered among 
the foliage, express the hope of his return. But let 
me contemplate my too happy rival : you are beau- 
tiful," said she, addressing a miniature picture which 
she drew from her bosom, ^' but you are unjust ; the 
heart of Henry ought to be mine, but you usurp it. 
Dear, cruel Henry, why did you marry me ; I would 
to heaven I could look like this picture, I should then 
be the object of his tenderness ; but 'tis impossible. 
What a charming countenance. What an enchanting 
smile plays about the mouth; yet the original, on 
whom he lavishes the caresses which ought to be 
mine ; her to whom his whole soul, his days and 
nights are devoted, perhaps feels not half the tender- 
ness for him which possesses this agonized bosom ; I 
know he loves you, happy, happy woman ! Wretched, 
miserable Matilda !" Here a flood of tears took from 
Lady Dormer the power of further utterance, and 
throwing down the picture on the frame, she rose up, 
flung herself on the sofa, and covering her face with 
her handkerchief, gave vent to her swelling feelings in 
loud sobs. Sir Henry was much aff*ected at the dis- 
covery he had made, for he had never imagined that 
Matilda had the most distant idea of his having a mis- 
tress, as she had never, in the remotest terms, hinted 
her suspicion of such a matter, and he had hoped that 
she was in absolute ignorance of the affair ; his heart 
wa=5 vvrung with the idea of her sufferings, at the same 

29 



226 

time that it gave him, if possible, a more exalted opi- 
nion of her disposition, as she had never, in the gen- 
tlest manner, upbraided him for his neglect, or seemed 
dissatisfied at his passing night after night from home, 
but had always met him with smiles ; he advanced 
to the door, in order to throw himself at her feet, 
when seeing the picture upon the frame, the idea of 
placing the locket there instead of it, presented itself 
to his imagination ; it was done instantly, and he had 
scarce time to slip back, before Matilda, starting up, 
said, " these agonies are unavailing, I must endeavour 
to appear cheerful ; I will dry my tear& and pursue 
my work ; heaven will perhaps take compassion on 
me, and give me the invaluable heart of Henry in re- 
compense for my patience under these dreadful suf- 
ferings." 

She now advanced towards the frame, and snatch- 
ed up the locket, exclaiming, " is this enchantment r 
May I beheve my eyes ? What power has effected 
this metamorphose ?" " Love," answered Sir Henry, 
who was now kneeling 'before her, " ardent love, who 
wishes to remove from the eyes and remembrance of 
Matilda all disagreeable objecls." " O heavens, Sir 
Henry,'' said the astonished Matilda, '• have you dis- 
covered my v\^eakness ; forgive me, I beseech you." 
"It is I, my angelic Matilda," said he, " who ought to 
blush and be ashamed ; and believe me, my love, I am 
truly penitent for the hours of anguish I have made you 
suffer: but in one thing you are mistaken, my heart is 
indeed all yours, it has no other possessor, your virtueei 
have subdued it. Speak to me, my angel," cried he 



221 

to the fainting Matilda, ^^ say that you forgive your re- 
penting Henry." " O, Sir Henry !" said Matilda, burst- 
ing into tears, "am I so happy — may I believe you?" 
*' You may, by heaven," replied he ; "come to my heart, 
and live and reign there forever." He now caught her 
in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers, passion- 
ately entreating her to pardon him. " And do you in- 
deed love me," said Matilda, "let me look in your eyes, 
for they have never yet deceived me; yes," cried she, 
"' there now appears in them atenderness that I have 
never before observed ; O ! I am too happy." He 
stopped her mouth with kisses ; " can you forgive me, 
my Matilda ?" " Talk not of forgiveness, the exquisite 
delight of this moment destroys every trace of for- 
mer uneasiness ; but will you never wander again, 
my Henry ?" " Never," said he, gazing on her fond- 
ly, " I only wonder that 1 could, after having been the 
happy possessor of so much loveliness and goodness^ 
ever stray ; but my follies are past ; henceforth, Ma- 
tilda, your inconstant husband will become your 
adoring lover." " Delightful promise," said Matilda, 
sinking into his arms, "what a prospect of happiness 
have I before me ; but was this really and originally 
intended for me," said Matilda, pressing the locket to 
her lips, wfBx^h she had found on the frame. " On my 
honour," replied Sir Henry, " it was made on purpose 
for you." He now made a full confession to Lady 
Dormer of all that concerned Harriet, and entreated 
her to tell him how she became acquainted with the af- 
fair, and by what means she had procured the picture. 
" You may remember," answered Matilda, " that two 



228 

years ago you went down to Belford, on the death of 
the steward ; you forgot your pocket book, and sent 
back James to me with the key of your scrutoir to 
fetch it ; I had occasion to open several drawers be- 
fore I found it ; in the course of my search I met with 
the picture of a beautiful female. Morton, my maid, 
was present, and seeing me admiring it, soon unde- 
ceived me with respect to its being any relation of 
yours, which I then imagined it might be, by saying, 
' I wonder, my lady, you can dirt your fingers with 
touching that nasty, fiUhy picture.' Filthy, Mor- 
ton, replied I, why I think it is the most beauti- 
ful face I ever saw. ' Handsome is, my lady, as 
handsome does ;' says she, ' why la ! my lady, that's 
Harriet Meadows,' said she Avith a sneer ; and who 
Morton, replied I, is this Harriet Meadows against 
whom you appear to be so inveterate ? ' Why, my 
lady, she is the impudent harlot that Sir Henry has 
kept ever since he first went to college at Cambridge, 
and whom he now supports in the highest stjle in 
Portland Square ; I am sure it is a burning shame, 
and a crying sin, when he has such a beautiful sweet 

lady as you, and he is a vile ' 

Hold ! hold ! Morton, said I, the conduct of Sir 
Henry must not be censured in my presence ; he is 
perfectly master of his own time, person, and for- 
tune, he is therefore to dispose of them as he pleases, 
without being subject to my controul, or account- 
able to any one. ' You are too good, my lady, and 

if I was your ladyship ' As I did not choose 

to take idvice from my servant, I was obliged to 



229 

stop her mouth, by saying, I did not believe a sylla- 
ble of the story, and desiring her to quit the room, 
added, that if ever I heard her drop a hint of the 
ridiculous stuff she had mentioned, I would dismiss 
her from my service immediately ; which, in a very 
short time, I was under the necessity of doing, as I 
found it impossible to prevent her talking ; I did not 
wish your follies, my dear Sir Henry, exposed, and 
my pride was too great to wish to be pitied. 

"I took the picture, copied this from it, and then re- 
placed the original. Your coldness, which before 
had given me much uneasiness, was now plainly ac- 
counted for ; I felt that I had not been the choice of 
your love ; I determined never to complain, and to 
bury the discovery forever in my own bosom. What 
nights of anguish liave I passed ; how have I envied 
my happy rival, whom I supposed sleeping in your 
arms, while I was traversing the floor of my bedroom, 
weeping, and invoking death to remove me from you, 
as I considered myself a bar to your happiness ; then 
I would talk to the picture, and call it cruel ; I have 
had a melancholy delight in endeavouring to dress my 
hair like it, in order to appear agreeable to you. 
But it is past," said Matilda, wiping her lovely eyes, 
" and I will remember my griefs only as a frightful 
dream." " Angelic goodness," said Sir Henry, kissing 
the tears from her eyes, "you shall never again expe- 
rience a pang on my account. Lovely as you are, 
Matilda, I am the conquest of your virtues ; a reign 
much more lasting than that of beauty. This is my 
wedding day ; come, my love, my friend Saville is 



230 

below, let him and Lamina partake our joy.'' He then 
led her to the drawing room, where Saville sat en- 
chanted bv the charms of Miss DaFnley, who began 
to feel not altogether indifferent to his fine person and 
liighly polished conversation. They dined together, 
four as happy people as ever met together at one ta- 
ble. When the dessert was removed, Saville apolo- 
gized to the ladies for being under the mortifying ne- 
cessity of leaving them, but promised to return in the 
evening. He then entreated Sir Henry to accom- 
pany him to the Portland-street coifee-house, w^here 
he was obliged that evening to meet his attorney re- 
lative to the selling of an estate, which he wanted to 
dispose of in order to purchase another. Sir Henry 
consented to accompany him. They were obliged to 
pass the house of Harriet, and as Sir Henry wished 
to bring matters to a conclusion with her, on their re- 
turn from the coffee-house they agreed to call. They 
found the street door open, therefore went directly 
op stairs without the ceremony of knocking : on en- 
tering the drawing-room they found every thing in 
confusion, a table upside down, and the carpet 
covered with fruit, broken bottles, and glasses ; 
" heyday, bedlam in state," said Sir Henry, " I fear 
Harriet is not yet come to her senses : but let us pro- 
ceed :" they now reached the dressing-room, and 
found Harriet's maid very lovingly asleep in the 
arms of the footman : they roused them, and soon 
discovered that they were both in liquor ; after re- 
peated inquiries, they at last made out that Harriet 
was in bed. Sir Henry opened the door of the ad- 



251 

joining bed chamber, and beheld the fond, affection- 
ate, constant Harriet, in bed with his own valet : his 
calling to Saville awoke them. " See there, Savilic,'" 
said he, " the confirmation of what I have long suv 
pected ; the despairing, faithful Harriet, who could 
not outlive my neglect and desertion of her, consol- 
ing herself in the arms of Norton ; nay, look up 
man," continued he, (for Norton had hid his head 
beneath the cloaths) " it is I who should take shame 
to myself, for having been so long the dupe of an in- 
famous woman." Harriet, who w^as so much intoxi- 
cated that she could not speak plain, furiously an- 
swered, " there is no in-fam-mam-y in be-be-ingseen 
in-in bed with one's ow n hus-hus-band ; 1 am 
mar-mar-ried to-to Nor-nor-ton." '• Indeed," said 
Sir Henry, ^' I rejoice to hear it, and wish you both 
joy with all my soul, joy as perfect as what I myself 
feel." " Do you mean to-to in-in-in-sult me," sai<l 
Harriet, seizing a decanter which stood by the bed 
side, and throwing it at the head of Sir Henry, who 
narrowly escaped it ; "I ne-ne-ver loved you. I was 
in-ti-ti-mate with Norton, lohg be~fo re-fore I kne^r 
you: he ad-vis-ed me to thro w^ myself in-in your way, 
as he knew you had plenty of mon-ey. You fan- 
fan-cy you was my se-se-du-cer, but that's all a farce. 
You know that, don't you Nor-nor-ton. I only pre- 
ten-ded that, as I soon found you w^as an easy gen- 
gen-e-rou3 fool, and I found from your having that 
no-no-ti-on, I could fleece you the better." '• Bravo !" 
said Sir Henry, " an excellent speech, and well de- 
livered, and I wish most sincerely that all gentle- 



232 

men who keep mistresses had an opportunity of hear- 
ing it ; for though it is particularly addressed to me, 
it may be generally applied. Come, Saville, we have 
seen and heard enough, and as matters are^ Mr. Nor- 
ton must certainly provide in future for his wife's sup- 
port. Adieu, ma belle Harriet ; this visit saves my 
family at least two hundred pounds a year." 

They hurried out of the house ; " example is infi- 
nitely better than precept/' said Saville, as they 
reached the street, " I am now perfectly cured of my 
foolish desire of keeping a mistress ; and I wish that 
every young man of fortune had a sincere friend like 
you, my dear Sir Henry, to point out to them the ab- 
surdity of fashionable vices. However, though cur- 
ed of one passion, I am possessed with another, 
which I am persuaded I shall not so easily get rid of. 
I am seriously in love, so much so, that I would be- 
come a husband this night, if I could persuade the 
charming angel who has stolen my heart to accept 
my vows, and plight me reciprocal ones." 

" And who," said Sir Henry, " is this charmer, w^ho 
has made you a convert to matrimony." " Laurina 
Darnly," replied Saville ; " promise me your good of- 
fices with that charming girl, Sir Henry." " With 
all my soul," returned Sir Henry ; " nothing w^ould 
give me greater satisfaction than to see you united 
to that dear girl, for whose welfare and happiness I 
am deeply interested : and to confess the truth, Sa- 
ville, introducing you to her was a part of my scheme, 
as I washed you to see the difference between native,. 
modest beauty, and artificial loveliness." 



23S 

They returned to Berkely square, where the even- 
ing passed in the utmost harmony, and Laurina felt 
the graces of Saville so forcibly, that, after an inves- 
tigation of her heart, she found that it was no longer 
in her possession, but had flown to the bosom of Sa- 
ville. The next morning brought melancholy news ; 
early, Harriet's maid, with a terrified countenance, re- 
quested to speak to Sir Henry Dormer; being intro- 
duced to the breakfast parlour, in the presence of 
Lady Dormer, she lold Sir Henry, " that after he 
left the house the preceding evening. Miss Mea- 
dows and Norton had a violent quarrel ; that Norton 
had blamed her very much for speaking her senti- 
ments so freely, as they had lost two hundred a year 
by it ; that Miss Meadows had called Norton a mean, 
pitiful scoundrel, and told him that she had supplied 
him with money long enough, and that he must now 
think of providing for her ; that from words they got 
to fighting, when Norton struck Harriet so violent a 
blow on the temple, that she fell dow n dead instantly ; 
that he and the footman agreed to strip the house of 
every thing valuable, and set off for France ; and on 
her shrieking out, had gagged her, and tied her to the 
bed post; that they put then* scheme in execution ; 
and that she was just released by the neighbours, 
who seeing the windows shut, and the street door 
open, had suspected all was not right within." 

The death of a woman he had once loved, and 
with whom he had lived for several years, could not 
fail of giving Sir Henry a great shock. Lady Dormer 
-hed tears, and lamented sincerely the untimely end 

30 



!^4 

of Harriet ; whose fate is a striking lesson to the dis- 
solute of either sex ; she was buried decently. Lady 
Dormer soon after presented Sir Henry with a son. 
A fond father and an aifectionate husband is now the 
deserved character of Sir Henry, and the happiness 
that reigns in his family, is rarely to be met in any 
situation of life. 

Saville, on whom this affair of his friend's made a 
lasting impression, in a short time made an avowal of 
his love to Miss Darnley. Laurina was neither prude 
nor coquette, and, therefore, countenanced by her 
guardian and Lady Dormer, acknowledged a mutual 
regard ; they were united, and live patterns of conju- 
gal felicity ; Saville always confessing that he owes 
his happiness to the errors of his friend, and constantly 
declaring, that Example is far better than Precept. 



ABO SABER THE PATIENT. 

Abo SABER, surnamed the Patient, was a rich and 
generous man, whose liberal character diffused hap- 
piness through the village in which he dwelt. He 
was kind to the poor, and hospitable to strangers. 
His barns were full, his ploughs were constantly at 
work, his flocks were spread through the fields, and 
plenty was maintained in the country by his wealth 
and beneficence. He had a wife and two children ; 
his domestic felicity was undisturbed ; his peasants 
enjoyed an easy competence for themselves and fa- 



235 

milies ; not a wild beast ravaged his folds or stalls, 
till at length a monstrous lion came to disturb this 
scene of secure and happy industry. 

Abosaber's wife proposed that her husband and his 
servants should march out to hunt this rapacious ani- 
mal, whose ravages effected them more than any in , 
the neighbourhood, on account of their more exten- 
sive possessions. " Wife," said Abosaber, " let us 
have patience ; patience sees an end of every thing; 
we suffer not alone ; his ferocity invades our neigh- 
bours as well as us ; he must fall sooner or later, whe- 
ther we intermeddle or not ; let us leave it to heaven 
to vindicate our cause; guilt never escapes unpun- 
ished." 

The king of the country at length heard of the 
ravages of this lion, and gave orders for a general 
chace. A body of his subjects soon took arms, sought 
out the lion, and encompassed him on all sides. A 
volley of anows w^ere showered upon the ferocious 
animal ; he became desperate, his hair stood on end, 
his eyes glared, he lashed his sides with his enormous 
tail, and roaring with a voice of thunder, rushed fu- 
riously upon one of the hunters who advanced before - 
the rest. This was a young man of the age of nine- 
teen years, mounted upon a vigorous and high mettled 
horse. 

At the cry of the lion, however, the generous ani- 
mal was seized with great terror, his strength failed, 
and he fell down dead. The intrepid rider was in- 
stantly upon his feet, invoked the name of the pro- 
phet, and plunged his scimitar into the monstrous 



2S6 

throat of the lion, whose jaws were open to devour 
him. Such an instance of bold and steady courage 
gained the gallant youth not only the applause of his 
sovereign, but even the high office of commander in 
chief of all the forces in the kingdom. 

Abosaber, when he heard of the victory over the 
lion, said to his wife, " see now whether punishment 
does not always await the mischievous! Is it not 
much better that we have been patient ? Had I fol- 
lowed your advice, and ventured to attack an ani- 
mal which has required so considerable a force 
to overcome, I might have lost my own life, as well as 
my servants." 

The lion was not the only invader that infested the 
peaceable retirement of Abosaber; all the inhabitants 
of the village had not the reputation of unsuspect- 
ed honesty. One of them committed a robbery upon 
a house in the capital, and made his escape, after 
murdering its master. The king, upon receiving in- 
formation of this robbery and murder, sent for the re- 
lations and friends of the deceased. Their know- 
ledge respecting the murderer went no farther than 
suspicions, and these fell upon the inhabitants of the 
village in which Abosaber had his residence, who 
were reckoned among the worst members of the 
community, and who had been known to frequent 
the house in which the robbery had been committed. 
Upon these suggestions, and without seeking farther 
proof, the angry monarch sent an officer with a party 
to lay waste the village, and bring away the inhabi- 
tants ia fetters. 



237 

The persons entrusted with the execution of these 
orders not only fulfilled, but even exceeded their 
commission. Those undisciplined soldiery spread 
their ravages through all the adjoining country, spar- 
ing only the dweUing of Abosaber, and six persons of 
his family ; but destroying his vineyards and corn- 
fields, as well as those of his fellow townsmen. 
The wife of Abosaber lamented this disaster with 
much noisy sorrows " We are ruined," said she to 
her husband, " our flocks and herds, you see, are car- 
ried off with those of our guilty neighbours, notwith- 
standing the orders given to spare us. See how un- 
justly we are treated ; speak to the king's officers." 
" I have spoken to them," answ^ered Abosaber, ^° but 
they have not time to hear me. Let us have patience ; 
the evil will recoil upon those who commit it. A 
mischief on him who gives orders that are both rigor- 
ous and unjust ! A mischief on him who acts with- 
out reflection ! The evils which the king heaps upon 
us will soon, I fear, fall back upon his own head." 

An enemy of Abosaber's heard these words, and 
reported them to the king. " Such," said the inform- 
er, " is the language held by him w horn your majes- 
ty's mercy spared." In consequence of this, the mo- 
narch ordered Abosaber, his wife, and two children, 
to be expelled from the village, and banished out of 
his dominions. 

The wife of this wise and resigned mussulman re- 
newed her murmurs, and expressed her resentment 
in the bitterest language of complaint. "Have pa- 
tience, wife/' said he, "patience is the sovereign 



238 

balm for adversity ; it gives wholesome advice, and 
opens the springs of joy and consolation. Let us go 
to the desert, since we are driven hence." Good 
Abosaber looked up, and blessed Almighty God, as 
he went on his way with his family. However, they 
were hardly within the desert, when they were at- 
tacked by a band of robbers, who spoiled and strip- 
ped them, and left them without resource, hopeless 
of human aid, and with nothing but the gracious care 
of Providence to trust to. At this new stroke of the 
malignity of fortune, the woman having lost all that 
she held dearest, gave free vent to her sorrows, and 
with plaintive eyes exclaimed to her husband : " Un- 
feeling man ! lay aside thy indifference ; let us run 
after the robbers ; if they have any sense of humani- 
ty remaining, they will restore our children." 

" Have patience," replied Abosaber, " patience is 
the only remedy for evils that seem to admit of none. 
The robbers are well mounted; naked and fatigued 
as we are, it is not probable, that we should T>vertake 
them ; even if we could, perhaps those barbarous 
men might be so enraged at our importunate lamen- 
tations as to put us to death." The good woman be- 
came calm when her strength was so exhausted that 
she could not continue her complaints ; and they 
both arrived shortly after on the bank of a river, with- 
in sight of a village. " Rest here," said Abosaber to 
his wife, " while I go to find lodging for us, and ob- 
tain, if possible, some garments to cover us." He 
proceeded towards the village, which stood at no 
great distance. Hardly was Abosaber out of sight of 



239 

his wife, when a person iiappened to come up on 
horseback, wlio stopped at the sight of so beautiful a 
woman, naked, and alone, in a by-path. The ob- 
ject of his curiosity soon awakened otlier desires ; he 
put various questions to her, such as were naturally 
suggested by the strangeness of the adventure ; to 
which she replied with modest simplicity. Her an- 
swers seemed to offer some shadow of hope to the 
young man. " Madam," said he, " you are formed 
for a happier destiny * deign to follow me, and to ac- 
cept, with my heart and hand, a situation of enviable 
happiness." "I have a husband," said the lady, " to 
whom, however unfortunate he may have been, I am 
attached for hfe." " I have not time," returned the 
cavalier, " to convince you of the folly of this refusal 
in your present condition. I love you ; mount my 
horse without reply, otherwise, with a stroke of my 
scimitar, 1 will here end your life and your misfor- 
tunes together." 

Abosaber's wife was thus forced to comply with the 
ravisher's demand ; yet^ before her departure, wrote 
these words upon the sand : " Abosabcr, by your pa- 
tience you have lost your fortune, your childr€7i, and your 
xmfe, who is now ravished from you. Heaven grant that 
fortune has not still heavier evils in store for yoiw^ 
While she wrote these words, the cavalier again bri- 
dled his horse, and, when all was ready, seized his 
prey, and was soon out of sight. 

Abosaber, at his return, looked about for his wife, 
and called on her in vain ; all was silent. He chanced, 
however, to look upon the sand, and thus le^Tned thf^ 



240 

extent of his misfortune. He could not withstand the 
first emotions of grief ; he tore his hair, beat his 
breast, and dashed himself upon the ground. But 
the swell of passion was succeeded by a calm. 

"Have patience, Abosaber," said he to himself, 
" thou lovest thy wife, and art beloved by her : God 
has most probably permitted her to fall into her pre- 
sent situation, in order to relieve her from severer dis- 
tresses. Does it become thee to pry into the secrets 
of Providence ? thy duty is to submit, and no longer 
to weary and offend heaven with thy murmurs and 
complaints." With these reflections he became fully 
resigned, and giving up the idea of returning to the 
village, took the road to a great city, the minarets of 
which had caught his eye at a distance. 

As he approached, he saw a number of w^orkmen 
employed in building a palace for the king. The con- 
ductor of the work took him by the arm, and obHged 
him to join the other labourers, under pain of being 
sent to prison. Abosaber w^as forced to have patience 
and do his best, while a little bread and water was all 
that he had for his labour. 

He had been about a month in this laborious and 
unprofitable employment, when one of his fellow- 
workmen happened to fall from a scaffold and break 
bis leg. The poor wretch uttered screams of anguish, 
which were inteiTupted only by imprecations and 
complaints. Abosaber went up to him ; " Comrade," 
said he, "instead of soothing, you rather increase 
your pain by these complaints ; have patience ! the 
effects of patience are always beneficial : it enables 



2M 

VIS to bear misfortune ; and is of such a sovereign effi- 
cacy as often to raise a man from the bottom of a well 
to a throne." The monarch of the country was at 
one of the windows of his palace, to which he had 
been attracted by the cries of the unfortunate work- 
man; he heard the w^ords of Abosaber with indigna- 
tion. 

" Arrest that man," said he to one of his officers, 
" and bring him before me." Abosaber was instantly 
hurried into the presence of the tyrant, whose pride 
he had unknowingly offended. 

"Audacious wretch," said the barbarous king, "say- 
est thou that patience can raise a man from the bot- 
tom of a well to a throne ? Thou shalt make experi- 
ence of the truth of thine impertinent maxim." He 
at the same time ordered him to be put down into a 
deep and dry well, which happened to be in the court 
of the palace. He then visited him regularly every- 
day himself, bringing him two small pieces of bread. 
" Abosaber," said he, " methinks thou art still at the 
bottom of the well ; when will thy patience raise thee 
to a throne ?" 

The more the brutal monarch insulted his prisoner, 
so much the more did Abosaber arm his spirit with 
resignation. " Let me have patience," said he, " and 
not attempt to return insult with reproach ; it is not for 
men to revenge themselves. The measure of his 
crimes will at length be filled up. The eye of heavea 
beholds my condition. God is the judge of all ; kt 
me have patience." 

The kin^had n brother whom he had always con- 
Si 



242 

cealed from every eve, in a secret corner of his palace ^ 
but anxious distrust led him to fear that he might one 
day or other make his escape, and be raised to the 
throne ; he had therefore lately cast him secretly into 
the same well in which Abosaber was now confined. 
The wretched victim of policy soon sunk under the 
misery of his fate. He died; but his death came not 
to be publicly known, whereas the rest of the secret 
had already tj^anspired. 

The grandees of the kingdom, and the nation in 
general, shocked at his capricious cruelty, of which 
they were all liable to become the victims, arose 
unanimously against the tyrant, and assassinated him. 
Abosaber's adventure had long been forgotten. An 
officer of the palace related that the king went daily 
with bread to a man in the well, and conversed with 
him. This suggested that he might be the tyrant's 
brother, who had been so cruelly treated. Abosaber 
was eagerly raised from his place of confinement, and 
being taken for the presumptive heir of the crown, be- 
fore he could speak and discover who he was, they 
hurried him to the bath, arrayed him in the royal 
purple, and placed him on the throne. 

The new king, still steady to his principles, resigned 
himself to this favourable dispensation of heaven. His 
aspect and reserved manners disposed every one to 
hope well of his reign ; and the wisdom of his con- 
duct soon justified their hopes. Not only did he weigh 
with unwearied patience every affair submitted to his 
decision, but he entered himself as much as possible 
into all thQ details of public business. *• Viziers, ca- 



243 

dis, and ofTicers of justice," said be, " have patience, 
and examine whatever is brought before you, and be 
not precipitate in your judgment." PJis prudence was 
universally admired, and all submitted to his guidance. 
Such was the general disposition of his subjects to- 
wards him, when a train of events occasioned an alter- 
ation in his fortune. 

A neighbouring monarch, who had been conquer- 
ed and expelled from his dominions by a powerful 
enemy, came with a few attendants to take refuge 
in his court, and to implore, on his knees, the hospi- 
tality, the kindness, and the aid of Abosaber, who 
was celebrated for his virtues, and above all, for his 
patience. 

Abosaber dismissed his divan, that he might con- 
verse in private with the fugitive prince. No sooner 
were they alone than he thus addressed him. " Know 
me for Abosaber, once your subject, by you un- 
justly deprived of his property, and banished from 
your dominions. Behold, how wonderfully heaven 
has changed our conditions. I left my village in ex- 
treme misery and want : but I patiently resigned my- 
self to my fate, and Providence has raised me to a 
throne ; while your conduct, marked by caprice, cru- 
elty, and rashness, has humbled you from your exalta- 
tion. I cannot help thinking, when I see you thus left 
at my discretion, that heaven charges me with the 
accomplishment of its decrees upon you, for an ex- 
ample to the wicked." 

After this reprimand, and without waiting for a re- 
ply, Abosaber ordered his officers to strip the fugitive 



244 

king, with all his train, and to drive them, in that 
condition, out of the city. His orders were instantly 
obeyed, but not without occasioning some murmurs. 
Ought an unfortunate prince, who is reduced to sup- 
plicate protection, to be so harshly treated ? This 
was contrary to the laws of equity, humanity, and 
sound policy. 

Some time after this, Abosaber leaining that a 
band of robbers infested a particular part of his do- 
minions, sent a party of his troops against them, who 
surprised, seized, and brought them before him. 
The king knew them to be the same who had de- 
prived him of his children. He examined their 
chief in private, " In such a situation," said he, " and 
in such a desert, you found a man, a woman, and 
two children. You stripped the father and the mo- 
ther, and carried off the children ; what have you 
done with them ?" " Sire," replied the chief of the 
robbers, " those young men are at present among us, 
and at your majesty's disposal. We are ready also 
to surrender up into your hands all that we have 
amassed by rapine ; only pardon our crimes, grant us 
life, receive us into the number of your subjects, and 
your majesty shall have no soldiers more faithful to 
their duty, or more attached to your service." The 
king received the young men, took possession of the 
robbers property, and caused them all to be forthwith 
beheaded, without regard to their supplications and 
complaints. 

Abosaber's subjects, when they beheld this speedy 
and severe infliction of punishment, and recollected 



245 

his conduct to the fugitive prince, were astonished at 
this change in their monarch's temper. " What pre- 
cipitation is this ?" said they, " can this be the com- 
passionate prince who used to check the cadi's haste 
to punish, and was continually repeating, " Stay, 
examine, do nothing rashly ; have patience !" Their 
surprise was already great, but was soon raised to a 
higher pitch by a new incident. 

A gentleman came to complain of his wife : Abo- 
saber, before hearing him, said, " Bring your wife 
hither ; if I must hear your complaints, it is but just, 
that at the same time I hear what she has to say for 
herself." The gentleman went out, and soon after 
returned with his wife. Scarcely had the king seen 
her, when he ordered her to be conducted into the 
interior apartments of the palace, and the gentleman 
who complained of her to be beheaded. His orders 
were executed. His vizier, officers, and all his divan, 
now murmured so loudly, that Abosaber could not 
avoid hearing. Such an act of violence had never 
been seen ; it was unexampled barbarity. The king, 
whom they had dethroned and slain, had never done 
any thing so shockingly tyrannical ; and this brother 
of his from the well, whose first acts bespoke so much 
sagacity and prudence, could with great coolness 
perform deeds of cruelty, which only madness could 
excuse. Abosaber patiently heard these complaints, 
and then beckoning with his hand, to command si- 
lence, spoke thus ; 

" Viziers, cadis, and officers of justice, and all 
you vassals of the throne, who hear me ! I have uni- 



246 

formly advised you never to judge rashly. You owe 
me the same regard which i have requested of you 
for others. I entreat you, therefore, to hear me. I 
have at last reached a pitch of happiness which I 
durst not €ven aspire to ; so many seemingly irrecon- 
cilable circumstances were necessary to its accom- 
plishment. I am indifferent to the crown which I 
wear; I wish, however, to acquire your esteem, by 
explaining to you the motives which have directed my 
conduct. I am not the brother of your late king, 
whom you judged unworthy to reign. I am a man 
of humble birth: being persecuted, ruined, and dri- 
ven out of my own country, 1 took reiiige here, after 
seeing my wife and two children ravished from me 
by the way. I resigned myself piously to the stroke 
of fate. As I entered this city I was seized and 
compelled to join the workmen who were building 
the palace. In full conviction that patience is the 
Mjost essential of ail virtues to the present state of 
man, I exhorted one of my fellow labourers to bear 
Mdth resignation the dreadful misfortune of breaking 
bis leg, which befell him. So great a virtue is pa- 
tience, said I, that it will sometimes raise a man, who 
may have been thrown into the depth of a well, to 
the elevation of a throne. The king my predeces- 
sor heard me. He was enraged at the maxim, and 
instantly cast me into a well, from the bottom of 
which you raised me to a throne. When a neigh- 
bouring king, who had been expelled from his do- 
minions by an usurper, came to implore my assist- 
ancje, I discovered him to be the sovereign of my 



247 

native country, who had banished me from his do- 
minions, and contiscaled all my effects. I had not 
been the only object of his capricious cruelty ; I had 
seen his whole subjects groan under his oppression. 
The robbers, whom I punished with seeming severity, 
had torn my children from me, had reduced me to 
the lowest extremity of misery. The cavalier whom 
I caused to be beheaded had violently ravished from 
me my w ife. 

" My view in inflicting these punishments was not 
merely to avenge myself for the offences which I had 
suffered. Considering myself as the sovereign of 
these dominions, by your voluntary choice, and as an 
instrument in the hand of God, I could not think 
myself at liberty to indulge a weak clemency, unfa- 
vourable alike to your security and your power ; it 
was my duty to fulfil the decrees of Providence upon 
persons who were undeniably guilty, and to cut off 
from society members so inimical to peace. A ty- 
rannical king, regardless of the laws, and guided on- 
ly by caprice and passion, is a scourge to his people. 
If it be criminal to attempt his life, it is still more so, 
however, to lend him assistance, which mi^lit enable 
him to renew his cruelty, and to gratify all the fero- 
city and malignity of bis heart. It is even prudent 
to divest him of the means of being hurtful to man- 
kind. Robbers, whose trade it is to attack caravans, 
and pillage travellers, who have formed none but li- 
centious liabits, can never become useful and respect- 
able citizens. Still less do they deserve to be ad- 
mitted to the honour of defending their countij. 



248 

Banishment only restores them to their original con- 
dition, augments their numbers, and renews their 
crimes. He who has ravished a woman is a monster 
in society. It is an act of beneficence to free the 
earth of him. He who can be guilty of this crime 
will hardly hesitate at the commission of any other. 

" These are the motives of my conduct. Rigour 
is more painful to me than any person else. But I 
should be unworthy of my people's confidence, and 
should be wanting in the duties of a sovereign if I 
suffered such instances of undoubted guilt to escape 
unpunished. If I have exceeded the bounds of 
authority intrusted to me, I am ready to resign it 
back into your hands. Now, that my wife and children 
are restored to me by the favour of the Almighty, all 
that I have further to wish for you is, that you may 
enjoy peace and happiness under a wiser government 
than mine." Abos^ber thus finished his defence. 
Admiration and respect held the whole assembly for 
some time silent. But they soon exclaimed, with 
one voice, " Long live Abosaber! Long live our 
prince ! Long live the patient monarch ! May he 
live forever ! And may his reign be everlasting !" 

The king, returning into his apartment, called his 
wife and children ; and after indulging the mild im- 
pulse of natural affection, "See," said he to his 
wife, " the fiuits of patience, and the consequences 
of precipitation ; lay aside your prejudices ; impress 
these great truths upon the minds of our children : 
the eye of Providence is upon the righteous and the 
wicked ; and the divine justice and wisdom dispen- 



24,9 

sres rewards and punishments with an infallible and 
impartial hand. The patient man, who resigns him- 
self to the will of Providence, is ^ogner or l^tei 
crowned with glpry." 



THE ROBBERS. 



Charles, a yoiir^man of high birth and expects^- 
tions, eldest son of the Compte de Moor, endowed hy 
nature with a soul of fire and a heart full of sensibiU- 
ty, was led away, in the prime of youth, by the love 
of pleasure and dissipation, too common at that agCc 
After running a course of thoughtless and crimipal ex- 
travagance, he listened to the voice of virtue, which 
had been stifled, not lost, in his heart ; and wrote to 
his father, (whom, amidst all his vice and folly, he had 
never ceased to love,) a letter full of penitence anc} 
contrition, desiring to return to hia duty, and to be rfir 
ceived to pardon and to iavour. This was intercept- 
ed by the villany of a younger brother, who mana- 
ged so as to persuade his father that his son Charles 
(who appears to have been his great favourite,) is to- 
tally abandoned to villany and vice ; in consequence 
of which, the old man withdrew his regard, and seat 
him a letter renouncing him forever, and containing 
that paternal malediction, so dreadful to the sensibili- 
ty of a son who loved his parent. On receipt of this, 
Charles became desperate ; and, amidst the storm of 
his feelings, outraged by what he thought the inhu- 
manity of his fatbor, readily accepted of a proposal. 



250 

icliade by some of his dissipated companions, to leave 
a world in which they had nothing but contempt and 
poverty to expect ; to fly to the forests of Bohemia^ 
and there to establish themselves into a society of 
robbers and banditti, of which he was to be the chief. 
In the horrid duties of this new employment, he show- 
ed that wonderful magnanimity, that persuasive elo- 
quence, that undaunted valour, which would have gra- 
ced a better station ; yet amidst t{^e elevation and ac- 
tivity of mind with which the exercise and success of 
these qualities were accompanied, his heart was 
pressed down by remorse, and melted by a tender 
recollection of that virtuous happiness, which, in the 
days of youth and innocence, he had once enjoyed. 
The curse of a father, whom he had revered and lov- 
ed, the desertion of a mistress, a cousin of his own^ 
of whom he was desperately enamoured, the sense 
of his outcast and abandoned situation, and of those 
violations of virtue and morality to which it necessa- 
rily leads ; those rending feelings, those melting re- 
membrances, joined to that high sense of perverted 
honour which linked him to his band, and that ar- 
dent valour which made their enterprises of glory, 
formed a character of the most energetic and inte- 
resting kind : captain of a band of inexorable banditti, 
whose furious valour he wields to the most desperate 
purposes, living with those associates, amidst woods 
and deserts, terrible and savage as the beasts they 
have displaced ; presents to the fancy a kind of pre- 
ternatural personage, wrapped in all the gloomy 
grandeur of visionary beings. 



251 

His younger brother, Francis, having succeeded in 
removing this favourite of his father, now looked for 
the death of the old man as the complete accom- 
plishment of his wishes to attain (he fortune and ho- 
nours of his family. To efilect this hellish purpose, he 
made use of his father's still remaining tenderness 
for that very son whom the traitor's arts had driven 
from his love. He employed one Herman, a tool of 
his villany, to personate a soldier, who had been the 
companion of Charles, and to relate a fabricated sto- 
ry of the suiferings and death of that unfortunate 
young man, W'ho ac€ording*to him^ had been reduced, 
by the severity of his father, to the most extreme and 
pitiable indigence, from which he had at last been 
relieved by death, having fallen fighting gallantly in 
an action with the infidels, and in his last words had 
breathed out the name of his father and of his 
AmeUa. The old count felt this relation as the in- 
human son expected ; he fainted at its close, and was 
carried off lifeless. The traitor Francis reaped the 
fruit of his villany ; he i*eaped, but his conscience 
did not permit him to enjoy it; ajidhe was ever after a 
martyr of remorse, haunted by the terrors of inward 
guilt. His associate, Herman, yields to contrition ; he 
braves the anger of his loid, and resolves to embrace 
the first opportunity of counteracting his villany. 

The band were encamped on a height on the 
banks of the Danube, after a hard fought battle with 
a party of Bohemian horse, which had been sent to 
take them ; but which, by the unparalleled valour and 
exertion of Moor and his friends, they had defeated 
Moor is here overcome with fatigue and thirst 



Mdbr, I must test here— my limbB are broken 
t^fth fatigue, and my parched tongue cleaves to my 
Induth. I would have asked some of you to fetch me 
a little w^ter from that river, but you too ^rc weary 
Almost to death. 

'Grim, (one of the band.) 'Tis ia loftg time since our 
flasks w^ere empty of wine. — How majestically the snn 
feit$ there below. 

Moor. 'Tis thus that a hero dies, and the nation^ 
adiiiir^ his fall. 

^rim. It seems to move you. 

Moor, 111 my youth it* was my favourite idea to 
liv6 like the sto, to <3ie like him ! 'Twas the fancy of 
k young mat). 

Grrirfi. 'Twais eveh so. 

Moor, There w as a time—-* — ^leave me alone, my 
friends. 

Griin, Moor, Moor ! do you ail aught ? Yotll- co- 
lour changes. 

Moor, There was a time when I could not sleep 
#f I had forgot my prayers before I laid me down. 

Grim, ^Tis foiy all. Would y<i>u, like a boy, be 
^hooled by the remem5>rance of your infant days ? 

Moor, My infant days ! Oh ! 

Grim, Think of these no more. Be not a ehild 
again, I pray you. 

Moor, A child again ! Would that I were ! 

Grim, Rouse yourself ! For shame ! See how the 
landscape smiles^ — ^how beautiful the evening looks. 

Moor, Ay, my friends, this earth is so beautiful-^ 

Grim, Why, that is well. 



253 

Moor. This scene so grand — 

Grim. You speak it truly, 1 love to hear you talk 
thus. 

3Ioor. And what am I, in this world that is so 
beautiful ? A thing so vile on this magnificent w^ork 
of heaven ! The prodigal son ! 

Grim. Moor ! Moor ! 

Moar, My innocence, give me back my innocence ! 
Look how every thing in nature is cheered by the 
smile of spring. Why in this air, so pure to them, 
should I breathe the blasting smoke of hell ? When 
all around us are happy, when gentle peace has uni- 
ted thern, the world one bkssed family, and its Father 
there above, who is not my father! I alone shut out; 
the prodigal son, excluded from the portion of his 
children, surrounded with crimes, with miu-der, bound 
to them with chains of iron— 

Grim. I never saw him thus before. 

Moor. Ah ! if it were possible for me to be borri 
again ; to be born a beggar, the meanest thing that 
were not a guilty one ! With the labour of these hands 
I would purchase the weariness of peace. O ! that 
with the sweat of my brow, though that sweat were 
blood, I could buy one guiltless hour, the luxury of 
one tear ! 

Glim. Patience, friends, his fit is almost over. 

Moor, There was a time when my tears flowed 
freely. O peaceful days ! that saw me in my fathers 
house, in my native fields ! Ye smiling fields ! Ye val- 
leys made for enthusiasm to wander in ! Scene of my 
happy infancy, will ye never return ? Will ye never 



254 

breathe on this burning bosom your gales of peace 
and joy ? Nature, why art thou dark around me ? 
They will never, never return; never breathe ; they 
are gone, gone forever. 

Subdued by the tenderness of the recollection which 
this scene expresses, Charles visits his native castle in 
disguise ; he finds his father dead, his brother Francis 
in possession of his inheritance, and his mistress ready 
to take the veil. After yielding for a while to those 
softer feelings which the scenes of his infancy recall^ 
be recollects the outcast abandonment of his own situ- 
ation, makes himself known, at the instant of parting, 
to Iris Amelia^ and flies to rejoin his desperate asso- 
ciates. 

It was night; and the band were assembled on a 
desert heath, near the ruins of an ancient tower, round 
which the winds whistled, and the owl shrieked. They 
had watched three days and nights of danger and 
alarm, and all except their unhappy chief, whom re- 
morse and anguish kept awake, yielded to their fa- 
tigue, and laid themselves on the ground to sleep. 
Moor walked to and fro, like the sovereign spirit of 
the night, revolving in his troubled, but daring soul, 
this world and the next. In this world, he has now 
nothing left to hope, and he looked with desperate 
calmness on the dark and unknown gulpli of that to 
come. B.i?i soliloquy was of that sublime and broken 
sort which expresses the agitation of a great but err- 
ing mind, yielding to remorse for crimes vdiich have 
stained his life, but not corrupted his soul, and 
ieft him, amidst the outrages of violence and vice, 



255 

the sentiments and the sufferings of virtue and of 
feeling. 

After a pause of gloomy meditation, he broke out 
in the following words ; " A long, long night ! on 
which no morning wdll ever dawn ! Think ye that 
Moor will tremble ? Shades of the victims of this 
assassinating sword ! I see your bleeding wounds — 
1 look on your livid lips, and hear the last agonizing 
groans they breathe, but I tremble not. These are 
but links of that eternal chain w^hich he who sits in 
yonder heaven holds in his hand. He stamped these 
horrors on my destiny, even amidst the innocent, the 
happy days of my unsullied infancy ; (he draws a pis- 
tol.) The barrier betwixt eternity and time this lit- 
tle instrument can burst, and then — Thou dread un- 
known, whither wilt thou lead ? Where wilt thou 
place me ? If thou leavest me this conscious self, 'tis 
that must create my heaven or my hell. Amidst the 
w^aste of a world which thine anger hath destroyed, 
I can people the silent void with thought. Or wilt 
thou, in new and untried states, lead me through va- 
rious misery to nothing ? Thou mayest annihilate my 
being ; but whilst this soul is left, will not its free- 
dom and its force remain ? 'Tis equal where — I w ill 
not shrink from the sufferings of the present; the 
destiny of Moor shall be fulfilled." 

He was silent, he heard the tread of approaching' 
feet, and presenlly a figure glided before him and 
knocked at tlie grated wicket of the tower. The 
figure said, '• Rise, man of sorrow, inhabitant of this 
tower, thy repast is here.'- A feeble voice answered 



25G 

from the dungeon within, "Herman, is it you? 
Bringest thou, like the prophet's raven, his food to a 
lingering wretch, that lives by the crumbs which thy 
pity affords him ?" Moor, who had shrunk back ia 
amazement, advanced, and desired the man to stop. 
It was Herman— who draws his sword, but is instant-r 
}y disarmed, " What art thou," said the astonished 
Herman, " whose touch withers like that of death ? 
Art thou the demon of this horrid place ; the spirit 
of this murderous tower ?" " 1 am," said Moor ; " the 
exterminating angel is my name ; and yet I have 
Hesh and bones like thee. But what wretch is it in 
that tower ? I will burst his chains." He drew from 
his pocket the pass keys which his profession em ploy -r 
ed; he opened the tower; the skeleton figure of a 
famished wretch crept from the dungeon — " Horrible 
phantom !" cried the astonished Moor, in a low and 
terrified voice, " my father?" 

It was his father, whom the inhuman Francis (tak- 
ing advantage of the long fit into which the account 
of his son's death had thrown him) had buried alive 
in the dungeon of this tower. When Charles was in- 
formed of this, and his other treacheries, by Herman, 
the penitent associate of his villany, he waked the 
band, and in the rage of filial revenge, despatched 
some of the boldest of his troop to force the castle of 
Ills brother, and bring him alive before him. The old 
man was still ignorant of his deliverers being his son, 
and waited, terrified and weak, the disclosing of this 
mystery of justice and of vengeance. 

Francis, in the mean time, was tormented with all 



257 

the dismay and distraction of awakened remorse. He 
had started from his bed, and gone into the saloon of 
the castle, followed by a servant who watched his sleep. 
Here they were told by a frightened domestic, that a 
troop of horsemen were approaching at a gallop with 
terrifying shouts. The count was petrified by his 
guilty fears, and could not give orders for defence. 
His followers, however, for a while disputed the pas- 
sage of the band, and the castle was set on fire. Its 
master was still more lost in the horrors of his situa- 
tion ; and, after an unavailing request to his servants, 
to save him from the vengeance of his enemies, by 
putting him to death, was left alone amidst the ap- 
proaching flames, wishing to die, yet dreading death, 
till he hears the thunder of the band at the gate, which 
shakes, bursts, and the entering foes seize him alive, 
and carry him oflf, according to the command of their 
master. 

All the while that Moor and his father were alone 
upon the heath. Moor was agitated with contending 
feelings. He often resolved to disclose himself to his 
father ; but the consciousness of his fallen and aban- 
doned state withheld him. When the old man com- 
plained that he had now no son to close his eyes. 
Moor threw himself on the neck of his father, yet was 
unable to discover that this wretch, this robber, this 
assassin, was his Charles. At that moment a distant 
noise is heard, and presently the dim gleam of 
torches begins to illumine the scene around them ; th© 
glare of the light increases ; the voices are heard more 
near ; the accustomed music of their triumph is sound- 



258 

ed, and the faithful band of Moor, true to their com- 
mission, bring the criminal Francis, chained, before 
his father and his brother. 

Moor presented the wretched Francis to his father. 
The old man was willing to forgive him, but his bro-. 
ther had devoted him to vengeance. He desired the 
band to lead his father to a remote part of the wood ; 
and then, settling the fury of his revenge into the ter- 
rible solemnity of dispassionate justice, he placed hu 
brother in the midst of his fierce associates, and de- 
sired them to pronounce sentence on his crime. They 
consulted some time on an adequate punishment ; 
and then, feRcitating themselves on the thought, they 
threw him into the dungeon in which this barbarous 
parricide had buried his father. The old man was 
then brought in. He felt the yearnings of parental 
affection for his guilty son, and exclaimed against the 
cruelty of his avengers. Moor threw himself into his 
arms, and discovered to him his favourite, his Charles. 
Just then, Amelia, who had escaped from the castle 
of his brother, entered, and ran to embrace her lover 
and his father. The father felt all the pleasure of his 
son and his niece restored, and fondly anticipated the 
felicity they were to enjoy. But Moor bade them 
check the expectation of happiness, and look only for 
desperation and hoiTor. " Your paternal curse," said 
he, " consigned me to perdition. These men you see 
are robbers ; your son is their chief." The exhausted 
strength of the old man could not stand the shock : 
he expired in the arms of his son. His mistress still' 
survived*; and though dumb with terror and grief, she 



259 

folded him in her arms, and showed the most ardent 
aifection for her Charles. Warm in his love, as in 
every other feeling, Moor had doated on her to dis- 
traction ; he forgot himself in her embraces, and for 
a moment thought he would live and be happy with 
his Amelia. " Come from her arms," cried one of 
the boldest of his troop, " or I will speak what shall 
freeze your blood." 

" Think," exclaimed another, while they levelled 
their pieces at his head, " of your vow to be ours for 
ever. Ours you are, and neither heaven nor hell shall 
win you from us." Their voices roused the remem- 
brance of his situation; but his soul was too proud to 
yield to threats. ^' You are murderers," said he, " and 
I am your chief. Down with these arms, and know 
your master." Awed by the sounds they were accus- 
tomed to obey, the banditti lowered their arms. " To 
be great, Moor must be free. I would not give this 
triumph for all the elysium of love. (He draws his 
sword.) Call not that madness, of which your souls 
want strength to see the grandeur. The great- 
ness of despair is above the ken of wisdom. On ac- 
tions such as this, reflection must follow, not wisdom 
pause." 

He then plunged his sword into the bosom of 
Amelia. Struck with the barbarous heroism of the 
deed, his associates fell at his feet, acknowledged his 
unparalleled fidelity, and vowed to be his slaves 
for ever. " No," said he, with a determined and 
petrifying calmness ; " the destiny of Moor is accom- 
plished. Thus far it -was in human power to go. 



and thus far has he gone; but here his course is 
closed, and his genius cries out, ^ all is consum- 
inated'." 

He then dismissed his band, except two favourite 
officers, with an exhortation to use their invincible 
courage in the service of their country. To these 
two favourites, whose souls were not so deeply tinc- 
tured in blood, he bequeathed his paternal domain, 
and desired them to leave him, and to devote their 
future lives to virtue and obedience to the laws. " And 
I too," said he, '^ will obey the laws ; I will bear the 
sternest punishment of their decree." And he went 
and delivered himself up to justice. 



BHAZAD THE IBIPATIENT. 

Bhazad was a prince adorned with every person- 
al accomplishment. His beauty was celebrated by 
the poets, and became proverbial among the nations 
of the empire. He was the delight of every circle, 
and his society w^as eagerly courted by all. Hia 
beauty was, one day, the subject of a conversation 
which he overheard, unobserved. After it had been 
highly praised, a person who had been hitherto silent, 
remarked ; " Prince Bhazad is, no doubt, one of the 
handsomest men in the world. But I know a wo- 
man who excels all her own sex in beauty much 
more than he does ours." 

At hearing this remark, prince Bhazad's curiosity 



261 

was much more piqued than his pride. lie address- 
ed himself secretly to the person ^vho uttered this, 
" Might one know," said he, "the name of the beau- 
ty whom you praise so highly?" "Prince," repli- 
ed the man, " she is daughter to one of the princi- 
pal vassals of the Syrian throne ; and if every eye is 
enchanted with the charms of her person, she pos- 
sesses still superior accomplishments in the qualities 
of her heart and understanding." These few words 
made a powerful impression on Bhazad's heart. He 
could think of nothing but the beauty he had heard 
so highly extolled, and all his desire was to conquer 
her heart. The flame by which he was consumed 
soon impaired his health ; he became melancholy, 
and avoided company. The king, his father, was 
surprised at the change; he inquired, and learned 
the cause. 

Bhazad, after avowing his passion, was gently re- 
proached by his father, Cyrus, for the reserve he had 
maintained. " Why," said he, " did you conceal the 
state of your heart from me ? Know you not that I 
have full authority over the prince whose daughter 
you desire to espouse ? Is it at all doubtful whether 
he will do himself the honour of accepting our alli- 
ance ?" Cyrus sent immediately to the father of the 
young beauty, to ask her for his son. The dowry- 
was soon agreed upon, and was stated at three hun- 
dred thousand pieces of gold; but the father of the 
lady required the celebration of the marriage to be 
delayed for nine months. 

'^ Nine months without seeing the object of my 



^6^ - 

wishes P^ said the impatient Bhazad to himself ; 
^' nine months without possessing her ! I can never 
endure it." He instantly formed a project for obtain- 
ing immediate access to the lady of his heart. He 
mounted the best horse in his stables, furnished him- 
self with some necessary provisions, as well as with a 
bow, lance, and a scimitar, and set out without further 
delay. He had not proceeded far from the capital of 
Syria, when he saw himself attacked by a band of 
robbers. Awed, however, by the firmness of his 
countenance, and his martial air, they, instead of at- 
tempting to murder after robbing him, as was their 
usual practice, made him a proposal of a very differ- 
ent sort, and offered him his life, on the condition of 
bis associating himself with them. By the loss of 
life, Bhazad would lose the enjoyments of love ; 
and yet the profession of a robber was extremely re- 
pugnant to his character. He concluded himself, 
therefore, that it would be most proper to make the 
robbers acquainted with his condition, his views, and 
the fatal delay of nine months, which he had not pa- 
tier^ce to endure. Upon bis making this nvowal, the 
captain of the robbers replied, " We will abridge this 
tedious interval ; we know the castle in which the 
object of your passion lives, and the force which de- 
fends it. March you at our head ; we will attack it, 
and you shall find no obstacle to resist our assault. 
All that we ask of you for this important service is, 
to enjoy your protection in future, and to-be allowed 
an interval of a few days to prepare for the enterprise." 
Bhazad, in his impatience, imagined himself al» 



265 

ready in possession of his happiness. All means 
seemed just that could serve the interests of his pas- 
sion, and he saw no occasion for delicacy in his 
choice. Wherefore, without farther deliberation, he 
continued his journey at the head of the robbers. 

They soon met a numerous caravan. The robbers, 
prompted by their natural propensity to plunder, 
made a disorderly attack upon it, but were repulsed 
with the loss of several men killed, and a great num- 
ber taken prisoners. Among the latter was Bhazad. 
He was conducted to the capital of the country to 
which the caravan was journeying. The comman- 
der of the caravan, after relating the adventure, pre- 
sented Bhazad to the king : " This, sir, is a young 
man who seems to be distinguished from the rest; 
we beg your majesty to dispose of him at your royal 
pleasure." The mien of the captive attracted the par- 
ticular attention of the monarch. "• Who are you, 
young man ?" asked the prince. " You have not 
the appearance of having been born for the abandon- 
ed mode of life in which you have been engaged. 
How did you fall into the hands of the caravan ?" 
Bhazad would not discover himself, least he should 
disgrace his real name ; " Sir," replied he, "do not let 
my exterior appearance impose upon your majesty ; I 
am not, nor ever was, any other than a robber by 
profession." 

" Your reply," said the king, " is your death war- 
rant. However," said he to himself, " let me not 
act precipitately ; it is just to have some respect to 
his youthj and to the exterior qualities which distin- 



264 

guish him from the rest of his profession. If this 
young man be only a robber, he deserves punish- 
ment ; but if he be some child of misfortune who seeks 
death to escape from the troubles of life, I should be- 
come an accomplice in his crime, if I did not stretch 
out my hand to save him from ruin." Thus spoke 
the prudent monarch to himself, and ordered Bha- 
zad into close confinement, till he should receive 
better information concerning his real character and 
condition. 

In the mean time, Cyrus, after a fruitless search for 
his son through all his own dominions, sent circular 
letters for the same purpose to all the raonarchs of 
Asia. One came to the sovereign into whose hands 
Bhazad had fallen. From the description given of 
him, he was instantly satisfied that the young adven- 
turer, whom he detained in confinement, was no other 
than the well beloved son of the potent monarch of 
S}Tia. What reason had he now to be pleased with 
himself for the prudence with which he had deljiyed 
judging of him from appearances ! He sent imme- 
diately to the prisoner, to ask his name. " My name 
is Bhazad," answered the young man. " You are son 
to king Cyrus ; but upon what motives have you been 
induced to conceal your birth ? Had I not been slow 
to inflict punishment upon you, your silence must have 
eost you your life ; and I should not have been dis- 
tressed with remorse for treating you as a vile assas- 
i^in." " Sir," answered Bhazad, after explaining the 
secret of his elopement from his f ither's court, " finding 
myself thus taken among robbers, in whose crimes I 



had involuntarily shared, I preferred death to igru)- 
miny, that I might not dishonour the illustrious name 
I bear." 

" Son," answered the sage monarch, " you have 
acted very imprudently. You were in love, and sure 
of enjoying the object of your desires within a few 
months. See to what an extremity you have been 
hurried by rash impatience ! Instead of waiting calm- 
ly till you could become son-in-law to one of your 
father's noble vassals, you first abandoned the court 
of Syria without permission, then exposed yourself 
rashly to be murdered by the robbers, for the purpose 
of carrying off your betrothed wife by force of arms. 
Behold in what a series of crimes you have involved 
yourself! Repress this impetuosity of passion, and 
calm your impatience. I shall take measures to has- 
ten your union with the princess whose hand you are 
so eager to obtain. But as every thing must be con- 
ducted in a way which may be suitable to your rank 
and condition, let us beware of aoting with impru- 
dent haste." 

After this the prince caused Bhazad to be magni- 
ficently arrayed, lodged him in his palace, and admit- 
ted him to his table. He wrote to Cyrus that he 
might make himself easy as to the fate of his son ; 
for that equipages were making ready in order that 
he might appear with becoming splendour at the 
court of the prince whose daughter he w^as to espouse. 
The impatient Bhazad saw those preparations with 
pain. They seemed to retard the completion of hig 
happiness. At last X\\h order was given for hh deparr 

34 



ture. A ^rnall army was sent to escort him. The 
least halt they made by the way seemed an age to 
^he enamoured prince. 

Couriers had been despatched to the princess's fa- 
ther to give him notice of his son-in-law's approach. 
He and his daughter, she having her face covered with 
a veil, came to the entrance of the castle to receive 
him. A magnificent apartment was appropriated 
to his use, adjoining to that of his bride. Every thing 
had been previously settled between the two fathers. 
Three days of the nine months were to expire ; and 
the preparations for the marriage were already made. 
There was nothing but a thin wall, and the space 
ef three days, between Bhazad and his bride ; but the 
wall was a mount Arrarat to him — the three days 
seemed an eternity. As he. took care to have con- 
stant information of what was going on, he learned 
that she was at her toilette, and waited upon by fe- 
male slaves ; her face was unveiled ; it would be 
charming to surprise and contemplate her in this situ- 
ation. He examined every corner of his apartment, 
in hopes of finding some means to satisfy his impa- 
tience and curiosity ; to his misfortune, he discover- 
ed a small grated window, and looked through it. An 
eunuch, who stood cenlinel at the post, soon observ- 
ed his prying curiosity, and not knowing who he was, 
pushed the point of his scimitar against him. It 
pierced both his eyes at once ; he shrieked with 
the pain, and all his servants hurried round him. 

The wounded prince informed them of the cause 
of his misfortune, and of the motives which had 



^ '267 

prompted him to expose himself in such a situation. 
The unlucky consequence Avith which it had been at- 
tended, now rendered him sensible of his fault. " It 
Was my impatience," replied he sorrowfully. " I 
slighted the good advice of the king, my benefactor. 
Within three days I should have seen and possessed 
the dear object of my wishes. I could not hav€ 
patience for so short an interval. My eyes, that 
sought to anticipate the pleasure of seeing her, have 
been punished by the deprivation of sigbtJ' 



THE HUMANE HIGHLAND ROBBER. 

Not many years after the last rebellion in Scot- 
land, an officer of some distinction was travelling 
through the Highlands. Barbarous as that part of 
Scotland still is^ it was much more so then. The 
public roads were scarcely any where perceivable. 
The people, though originally good natured, were 
peculiarly ipimical to soldiers while the massacre 
that followed the battle of CuUoden was yet recent 
in their memories. 

Thus situated, the officer could not possibly know 
his way, and it was almost in vain to ask, where he 
^ould neither understand nor be understood. To com- 
plete his misfortune, there happened to be that day a 
great fall of snow. He was attended only by a single 
servant. In such circumstances, they continued their 



26B 

journey, not doubting but they should perish at last. 
After wandering in this painful suspense the whole 
day, they discovered in the dusk of the evening 
something like a light at a distance. Thither they 
repaired without hesitation ; but when they reached 
the spot where they expected to find a house, they 
found themselves at the foot of a tremendous preci- 
pice, and the light that had decoyed them still glim- 
mering at an inaccessible height above their heads. 
In this stateof desperation they hallooed with all their 
might, and were immediately asked by a human voice, 
what they wanted. They then declared their situa- 
tion, and only begged to know whether they could 
hope for any relief. In an instant a man came and 
desired them to follow him. They did so, but were 
obliged, though reluctantly, to leave their horses 
fastened below. They soon arrived, by a zigzag way, 
at a large cavity in the middle of the rock, and the 
first sight they saw was a vast pile of faggots lighted 
up in the centre of a prodigious vacuity. There 
their guide left them, and returned in a moment from 
some concealed part in this subterraneous habitation, 
with above fifty armed men. 

At such a formidable and unexpected object, in 
circumstances otherwise sufficiently perilous, our tra- 
vellers were greatly and unavoidably startled, when 
one, who seemed to have the command of the rest, 
addressed them to this purpose : 

" You can be at iio loss to guess what we are, from 
otir appearance; but you have nothing to fear. For 
though we live by what is called violence, we are not 



269 

insensible to humanity. Our depredations are never 
stained with crueltj'^, and seldom with blood ; and 
those whom necessity has thrown on our care, have 
never either been treated with barbarity, or suffered 
to want. We extort a lillle from those only who can 
spare it: but rather augment than diminish the pro- 
perty of the poor. We know what we have to expect 
when we fall into the hands of the rich and powerful, 
and are resigned to our fate ; but we never take ad- 
vantage of the miserable. Nor is it to distress others, 
but solely to support ourselves, that w^e live in this 
manner. You see our quarters, and shall have all 
the accommodation they can afford you ; and if you 
can trust us, who have no reason to deceive you, 
we welcome you to a temporary residence in these 
adamantine abodes, with the most perfect sincerity. 
Our fare is homely, buf wholesome, and our beds, 
though coarse, are not infested with vermin. Nor need 
you be under any concern for your horses; they too 
shall share our protection and hospitality. We have 
no hay, but they shall not want for corn and water. 
Stables we have none, but can shelter them for one 
night, at least, from the inclemencies of the w^eather." 
This harangue revived the courage of the guests, 
and they were seasonably presented with a cup of 
w^hiskey each, to recover them from the cold and fa- 
tigue they had suffered. Their stomachs by this time 
must have been abundantly keen, and by their own 
account, they never supped more deliciously in their 
lives than they did that night, on poultry and fine 
Higliland mutton hastily broiled on the live ashes. 



210 

Rest was the next thing of which they stood most 
in need; and their generous host led them to an inner 
apartment in the cave, which seemed to be at once 
their treasury and their magazine. Their two sacks 
of heath were by his orders brought in, and put on 
end, with its crop uppermost. Then a rope w^as fas- 
tened about the whole to keep it together. On this 
simple contrivance, which formed a most delicious 
sofa, they laid themselv^es down. 

The officer bad some notes of value about him, and 
above twenty guineas in gold, besides a very hand- 
some gold watch, and other costly trinkets ; but m 
he expected they would search him for his money, he 
did not attempt to conceal any thing. Their host 
cither discovered or suspected their timidity, and of- 
fered himself to be their guard. They dissuaded hinj 
as much as possible ; but he told them plainly, that 
imiess he kept himself constantly by them, he could 
not be answerable for the conduct of his companions. 

He therefore slept by them on the bare rock the 
whole night. In the morning they found themselves 
thus alone with him, and every thing as they left it 
in the evening, save that of the whole fifty men they 
saw, not one was now visible but the head of the gang. 
Another fire of wood was instantly lighted up, and, as 
he told them they had near twenty miles to ride be- 
fore they could find any provisions for themselves or 
horses, they were prevailed on to partake very heartily 
of cheese and whiskey ere they set out. 

He then produced their horses, who had been well 
fed, and were in charming spirits. He likewise in- 



271 

sisted on putting them on a road where they miglii 
be in no farther danger of losing their way. On thi? 
the servant was ordered to dismount and give him his 
horse; but he chose rather to w^alk, and told thcnr 
he could easily keep up with them. At their parting — 
" Sir," said the officer, " we are struck at the whole 
of your conduct, from first to last, with equal admi- 
ration and gratitude. We have been treated like 
princes, where we expected our throats were to be 
cut. It is not in my power sufficiently to reward 
your generosity ; but here is a small purse of guineas. 
w hich is all the ready cash I have about me. I can 
very well spare it, and shall think myself honoured 
by your acceptance of it. I am only sorry it is not 
more for your sake." 

" Look'e sir," said the highwayman, " you now see 
our way of life. The Allows you saw^ are all trusty 
and tried. We go to a free market for whatever we 
want. In such a situation, money can be no object 
to us : though if it were, know that sergeant Moore is 
above being hired to do what his heart tells him is 
right." " Are you sergeant Moore r" exclaimed the 
officer. " I am." '' Why, your name is a terror to 
the whole country round.'' " It is." " Do you know 
that a reward is offered for you, dead or alive ?" " 1 
do." " Why then do you trust yourself alone with 
two armed men ?" " To show that my heart is a 
stranger to fear." He then drew his sword, and lean- 
ing on it gently, " Sir," said he, '' I was born a gentle- 
man, and have lived a clown. Early misfortunes 
obliged me to conceal my name and family, and en- 



272 

list in the aroiy. My conduct there attracted the at- 
tention of my superiors, but I had not interest to rise 
higher than a halbert, and was discharged with the 
regiment in which I served. This way o£flife was 
then imposed on me by necessity. It is Hkely I shall 
be made an example to deter others from the same 
clandestine practices: all I ask, when you hear of my 
death, whether public or private, is, that you remem- 
ber you once owed your life to him who never took 
one but in the cause of his country, when he fought 
for his king, and exposed his own. Farewell." 



THE PROGRESS OF VICE. 

Young D.wis was the soi%)f a reputable trades- 
man in the city of London. He received an educa- 
tion calculated to accomplish him both for commer- 
cial and polite life : his genius was brilliant, and his 
disposition tender. With these advantages, he be- 
came the indulged favourite of his parents. Hi^ 
vices were liberal and splendid : - they w^ore a pleas- 
ing form, and therefore escaped censure. In the 
morning of life, it was not considered how much they 
would cloud the evening : happily for his parents, 
they died, not thinking of the dangers which awaited 
their darling child. They left him in the pbssession 
of a genteel fortune, which they hoped he would im- 
prove by business ; but his genius and education, 
w hile they made him acquainted with the useful arts^ 



273 

had given him a superior rehsh for those which are 
pleasing and elegant. He had never yet wanted 
money, and was insensible of its value : his fortune 
dazzled h'^ eyes, and bewildered his judgment ; he 
thought it sufficient to purchase for him a continu- 
ance of enjoyments. Trade was beneath his talents ; 
and pleasure, in every alluring form, invited him to 
her courts ; the syren song prevailed, and ruin 
pressed on Avith hasty steps. His father's stock was 
sold, and young Davis commenced gentleman; he 
was suited to the character in every respect but the 
possession of wealth. Thus qualified, he procured 
admission to the best of company. As he kept pace 
with these in manners, he was necessarily obliged to 
keep pace with them in expense. Like them, he 
gamed ; and like them, he became the prey of shar- 
pers : his ignorance wgit their gain; his honesty their 
security ; and his generosity their abuse. A disposi- 
tion, tender and gentle as his was, naturally was sus- 
ceptible of the charms of beauty. The harlot, whom 
man had betrayed from happiness and peace, sought 
an object of revenge, and found a fit one in young 
Davis. 

Thus attacked by imposition on one side, and 
deceit on the other, his fortune declined apace. He 
saw impending danger, and endeavoured to avoid 
it, but in vain. Prudence had quitted the Jielm ; 
the bark was left to the guidance of pleasure ; and 
though a wreck was not immediate, it was inevitable. 
To avoid further injury by play, Davis deserted the 
gaming table : to protect him from the snares of 

85 



(ly 



prostituted beauty, he married ; the measure was 
wise, but ill timed. The fatal die was already cast. 
He chose a partner to please his fancy. Generosity 
forbade every idea of interest ; asentimeat so noble, 
at an earlier period, would have ensured his happi- 
ness ; but he had roved at large too long ; variety 
had been courted, and soon regained the heart of her 
old admirer. Davis strayed from the path of connu- 
bial duty; he was convinced of the injustice of his 
conduct ; and he could not bear to receive the 
caresses of a woman he was daily loading with inju- 
ries. Though no upbraidings fell from her tongue, 
millions were suggested by his own conscience. To 
avoid a lesser, he rushed into a greater evil ; he aban- 
doned his wife, and sought a wretched asylum in 
the arms of those Avho hardly could receive an addi- 
tional wrong. The small r^ains of his fortune they 
quickly dissipated. What was now to be done ? 
That, at which his gentle heart revolted : he was now 
to turn villain. He had been half ruined by the foul 
play of others ; and now he must resort to foul play 
himself, in order to procure a miserable subsistence. 
Being possessed of a genteel figure and address, he 
was readily admitted into the fraternity of profession- 
al gamesters. He had fatally learnt the principles of 
play, and was only to be instructed in its vile arts ; of 
these he soon became an approved master. His own 
losses gave a specious air of justice to the recovery 
of them by the same means that had occasioned their 
privation. For some time success attended this dis- 
honest plan ; but pigeons at length did not fly every 



275 

(lav, and appearances must be maintained. A game- 
ster is a gentleman, and the vices of a gentleman 
must be dignified with the appellation of honour- 
able ; what means then that are honourable can a 
distressed gamester resort to ? The road points out 
itself directly: a highwayman is an honourable 
character. This character poor Davis with horror 
assumed ; his whole frame trembled when preparing 
the dreadful instri;ments of terror and of death; but 
he flattered himself that they need only to be prepar= 
ed. Alas! once plunged in guilt, we know not 
whither it will lead : corruption of morals induces 
us to commit inferior crimes, and self preservation 
prompts us to perpetrate greater for their conceal- 
ment. Thus it was wath young Davis ; when, he 
w^ent out, he shuddered at the very thoughts ofl&r- 
der — before he returneoj he was involved in the guilt 
of it. A disregard to the property of his neighbour 
w^as quickly followed by the sacrifice of his life. 
The gentleman he robbed resisted his attack ; to 
effectuate his purpose, and obtain a temporary safety, 
he therefore shot him, rifled his pockets, and escap- 
ed ; he fled for secrecy and security to the apartment 
of his Dalilah ; here, while property remained, he 
was concealed ; when it w^as expended, his faithless 
harlot gave information of him for the sake of a share 
in the reward given as the price of his blood. He 
w^as apprehended, tried, convicted, and as a murderer, 
ordered for speedy execution. Sensible of the mag- 
nitude of his guilt, he murmured not at the dreadful 
sentence. Death vame as a kind relief, though in a 



^76 

(disgraceful form. The blessing of life appeared to 
him as a curse, inasmuch as he had basely torn it 
from a fellow creature. With these awful reflections 
he entered his dreary cell ; he had not been there 
long, when the massy door opened, and presented to 
his affrighted view his injured and deserted wife — 
not come to censure and condemn, but to pity and 
to soothe his sorrows ; for a while her tender purpose 
was resisted— -her presence planted new thorns in the 
bosom of her guilty and afflicted husband, but her 
forgiveness plucked them out again, and healed his 
wounds. The dreadful moment of their earthly 
separ 'I on arrived — the last mutual embrace was 
given — the big tear burst down his manly cheek, 
while female fortitude struggled to conceal the sym- 
pathetic pearl that would have rent the soul of him 
for whom it rose. The jailor, whose rude feelings 
were softened by the scene, led the beauteous mour- 
ner from the prison, and warned the captive of the 
approaching hour of death : he ascended the cart 
with resolution tempered by decency. In his way 
to the fatal tree, his crimes were forgotten^ his peni- 
tence admired, and his sufferings pitied. 

The cart drew away, and poor Davis fled to the 
mercy of his Father. May his misfortunes preserve 
the virtuous in the wisdom of their ways, and draw 
the vicious Irom the paths of destruction. 



277 



BOUNTY REWARDED, OR THE WORTHY SOLDIER. 

A French soldier had obtained a furlough toseehis 
friends. One evening he was trudging along with his 
knapsack on his back, rich in honour and courage, 
but with a pocket of the lightest ; yet, notwithstand- 
ing, singing one of his old songs with that air of 
gayety and ease, which, under the most penurious 
circumstances, is peculiar to his thoughtless profes- 
sion. 

In this merry mood he met a clergyman, whom he 
soon conjectured to be the vicar of some village, and 
whom he instantly conceived, moreover, to be a good 
man. Nor was he mistaken : there was an air of 
benignity in this clergyman that bespoke an excellent 
heart ; and a careless frankness in our honest soldier, 
that prepossessed one in favour of his. The conver- 
sation (for two Frenchmen are never at a loss for con- 
versation) turned at first on the military profession : 
and the good vicar was delighted to see the animation 
and loyalty which appeared in every gesture and 
every speech of the gallant veteran. At length, oh 
the point of parting, the soldier said, " How happy is 
your reverence ! You do not seem to be thirsty, while 
I am absolutely choked ; I have travelled so many 
miles to day." " If your way lies through my village, 
I will give you some refreshment. I have some tole- 
rable good wine : and there, to the left beyond those' 
trees, is my snug little parsonage." " Thank you, sir. 



ibr all your civilities ; but I am obliged to take the 
direct contrary way ; I must be at my journey's end 
as soon as possible. However, I will not conceal it, 
some good wine would rejoice my eyes exceedingly. 
And why should I be ashamed to confess it ? You 
seem to be so worthy a clergyman ; our pay is so very 
poor ! Ah, please your reverence, a livre w^ould make 
me as rich as Croesus." 

The vicar put the livre into his hands. ^' There, 
mj honest friend, I give it with pleasure ; drink my 
health with it." " Heaven bless your reverence ! On 
the faith of a grenadier, you are more generous than 
a king. Adieu, sir, good night, and a thousand thanks." 
They then parted, the grateful soldier continually re- 
peating, " O, what a good clergyman ! What a good 
clergyman is that.'^ 

The vicar, on his part, felt the most sensible plea- 
sure in this adventure. He admired the blunt frank- 
ness and apparent sensibility of the soldier, and, on a 
sudden, he took a notion to rejoin him. " Comrade," 
said he, as he came near him, " return me that li- 
vre 1" " What ! your reverence, do you repent of 
making a poor devil happy ? But here it is — I did not 
extort it." The vicar received it, and giving him a 
crown piece in its stead, " This trifle was not worth 
having ; I have thought better of it." " A crown, 
Tour reverence ! a crown ! Do you mean to tempt 
me ? I assure you that livre was sufficient." " But 
it was not sufficient for me," replied the good natured 
vicar ; " pray accept this trifle, and yoo will greatly 
©bUge me." 



2-79 

Jt is impossible to express the variety of sensations 
by which our pedestrian hero was overpowered. Nor 
could his worthy benefactor forbear from expressing 
how much he was affected with the exquisite sensi- 
bility which this humble and uncultivated mind dis- 
played. In every gesture, in every word, there was 
thatconciseness,<i^et pathetic eloquence of expression, 
w^hich nature teaches, and which no refinement can 
surpass. Their mutual satisfaction, it may be ima- 
gined, could scarce admit of being heightened. 
The poor veteran, who now thought himself as 
rich as Croesus, was the happiest of men ; and the 
generous ecclesiastic, whose income was far from 
alHuent, yet who felt himself not the poorer from this 
bounty, enjoyed a felicity which none but the virtuous 
and the good can feel. They parted once more. 
" O, the excellent man !" said the soldier, w^hen he 
found himself alone : " after having obliged me my 
own way, to come after me again and oblige me still 
more ! The good vicar ! May he live a hundred 
years." 

The soldier had made some progress in his journey^ 
when he found that the village where he had pro- 
posed to lodge that night was still so very distant, 
that after all, it would be much better to turn toward 
thafc which the vicar had pointed out, and take up 
his quarters there. 

One would be tempted here to imagine that vigi- 
lant and invisible Providence, which the ancients 
call destiny, had determined the soldier to change his 
purpose, and to repair to the village in which thi.v 



^80 

benevolent vicar lived. If we explore the pages of 
historj, we shall find numberless examples of that 
protecting power, which seems, as it were, to create 
miracles for our preservation ; and what is more as- 
tonishing, the ingratitude of man is such, that he is 
either insensible to this heavenly interposition, or re- 
gards,, it with an indifference equally unwise and 
culpable. 

Conducted then by the kind hand of guardian 
genius, the soldier directs his steps toward his bene- 
factor's village. Attentive at this moment to econo- 
my, he enters a wretched ale-house. " Comrade," 
Said he, " bring me a pint of wine ; and hark ye, let 
it be the best. I am intolerable thirsty." The land- 
lord placed him at the same table with three honest 
peasants, who were conversing with great volubility. 
" Sit down here," said one of the peasants ; " you 
will not be too much ; we love gendemen of your 
cloth: they serve the king, and fight for us." Then 
turning to his companions, " I tell thee, Claude, he is 
the jewel of men ! Did you observe with what good 
judgment he judged in that there affair of Gaffer 
Matthew ? And you, Nicholas, do you remember 
what care he took of the poor family of Robert 
that's dead and gone, and how he cried over them ?" 
" Ah," said Christopher, " he is one that does as he 
aays, and so I gets his sermons almost by heart.'' " Mj 
good friends," interrupted the soldier, tossing off a 
large bumper of wine, " you are praising some ho- 
nest fellow ; may I know who he is ?" " Mr. offi- 
cer, it is our vicar." " Your vicar, and all that you 



281 

say is true ?" " True what ! we han't yet said half 
enough. There isn't his fellow upon earth. Hark 
ye, would you believe it, w^e han't had a single law- 
suit since he has been in the parish. He is the best 
creature in the world !" " My good friend," again 
interrupted the soldier, " give me your hand. Do 
you know what pleasure you have just given me ? 
You praise a man who has obliged me like a prince. 
And I could put to death that man that could only 
think of hurting him." He then related, and he 
could scarce refrain from tears, how good the vicar 
had been to him. " Had you seen him," said he, 
" turn back to give me a crown. Here it is — I wont 
carry it away. Comrades, we will sup together, on 
condition that we all drink his health." 

He instantly orders the landlord to spread a supper 
on the table ; and the conversation continues : " Hark 
ye my friends, 1 have just thought of it ; I cannot 
leave this place without having visited the good vicar ; 
I am not satisfied with myself; I have not thanked 
him enough. But it is now late ; I shall sleep here 
to-night, and to-morrow morning early I wAl go and 
see him." " And why not this evening, Mr. Soldier ? 
The visits of such brave fellows as you are always 
acceptable. I'll answer for it, he will give you both 
supper and lodging with all his soul. Poor man ! 
he has some rascals of nephews that torment him, and 
are for getting whatever they can from him." " They 
torment him 5 let him turn them over to me : I'd 
manage them. I'll go then this instant to the good 
vicar ; but 1 scarce know my way.'^ The thre.e 

36 



282 

peasants, with one voice, offered to be his guides ; the 
reckoning is discharged, and they all set out; the 
conversation on the way turning continually upon the 
excellent character and actions of their common 
benefactor. 

They arrive at the door of the parsonage house ; 
they knock, and they knock again. No answer is 
returned : not the slightest noise is heard. " What," 
said one of the peasants, " can be the meaning of 
this ? I don't half like it." They now knock with 
great violence ; but all is silent still ; and even the 
great dog is not heard to bark. Their fears increase ; 
" This is very singular; he is always at home at this 
hour ; w^e must absolutely make somebody hear." 
" They won't open it, my friends, I know an excellent 
way to enter: we must burst open the door." The 
soldier instantly applied to this work ; the door soon 
yielded to his efforts ; he enters the first ; with what 
an object is he struck ! A man hanging upon a beam ; 
he runs to him ; he recollects the good vicar ; it is 
impossible to express his agitation: he perceives 
some signs of life : he quickly cuts the rope : he 
takes him in his arms; he revives him. " I hear a 
noise," said he, " shut the door ; take care of this good 
man, and Pll do justice to the wretches that have 
treated him thus." 

He perceives the dog killed; he goes up stairs into 
the vicar's apartment, and he there finds three wretch- 
es endeavouring to conceal themselves. Finding 
themselves discovered, they took the resolution to 
fall upon the soldier with daggers in Iheir hands. 



283 

^'Wretches!" said he, undaiinted by numbers, "and 
is it thus you have treated the good vicar?" With 
these words, he lost no time ; he killed one of the as- 
sassins, he seized the two others, and after severely 
wounding one of them, brought them below. The 
poor vicar v/as by this time recovered ; " My ne- 
phews !" he exclaimed, " and oh, my good deliverisr!" 
" Your nephews ! the monsters ! I will instantly de- 
liver them over to the marchause,^^ In vain the for- 
giving uncle implored compassion for his guilty ne- 
phews. The whole village had now gathered to the 
spot ; the assassins were delivered over to the hands 
of justice, and suffered the punishment due to their 
atrocious crime. 

The vicar would not permit his deliverer to leave 
him. ^* My gratitude," says he, " is inexpressible : 
you are my friend, my relation, my all. My whole 
life is yours ; you have rescued me from death, and 
we will never part." 

The good man hastened to purchase the discharge 
of the worthy soldier, and they ever after lived toge- 
ther. The vicar never recollected this happy meet- 
ing Avith him, without adoring the superintending 
providence of God 5 and the soldier, released from 
the hard fare of a military life, had the satisfaction of 
seeing a thousand good actions, that endeared to him 
still more and more the best of men, the virtuous 
vicar of- — — ■* 



284 



OR, 

THE ADVENTURES OF A SOLDIER. 

I NEED not tell you, that the campaign of 1757 
was not very glorious to the British arms. The first 
considerable action in which 1 partook was very in- 
auspicious. I carried a pair of colours under the 
Duke of Cumberland, when he lost the battle of Has- 
tenback, against the Marshal d'Etrees, little anxious 
about my life, and disdaining to fly, I kept my ground 
in the midst of a close body of Hanoverians, who 
made a desperate stand in defence of my colours. 
The blood I lost from a wound I received in my 
thigh, made me tumble upon the bodies of those 
brave men who had fallen by my side ; and, even 
in this condition, when death seemed inevitable, my 
mind ran back to that ominous incident of my play- 
ful years, when, holding fast my mock banner to my 
little bosom, I fell breathless at the back of my fa- 
ther's garden. A wound which I now received on 
the back of my head with the stroke of a sabre, ren- 
dered me perfectly insensible to all the horrors which 
passed around me ; and, when I recovered my facul- 
ties, I perceived that night was fast coming on ; that 
the engagement was over ; and that I had been left 
for dead on the field, amidst a heap of bodies, which 
formed a kind of rampart around me. My hat had 
so far defended me, that the blow on my head had 



' 285 

only occasioned a large contusion, which, added to 
ihe loss of blood from my other wound, made it diffi- 
cult for me to raise myself. 

By exerting the very utmost of my little strength, 
I crept along to the distance of about n mile from the 
place where I had lain, when I heard, amidst the 
gloomy silence of the night, the sound of a horse's 
hoofs behind me. I had forgotten the plume in my 
hat, which was conspicuous enough to discover me 
ai a considerable distance ; and the horseman, direct- 
ed, I suppose, by this mark, came up with me in a 
few seconds, on the gallop. He had a drawn sabre 
in his hand, from which I patiently expected my 
death, as I leaned against the trunk of a miserable 
pollard, in the midst of the heath. He accosted me 
in the German ; but, upon my answering in English, 
he told me, in my own language, that he was a Ha- 
noverian captain, who had been compelled to fly 
with his troop, after receiving a wound from a mus- 
ket shot in the shoulder. He invited me to accom= 
pany him to a light, which he distinguished at about 
a mile's distance. I assured him, however, that I was 
unable to proceed any further ; and, wishing he might 
repose that night in a safe asylum, desired to be left 
where I was, to finish my existence. This humane 
person, however, persuaded me, after many entreaties, 
to suffer myself to be raised on his horse, which car- 
ried us to the house where the light had been per- 
ceived. 

As soon as I was taken off the horse, I became in- 
i^ensible through weaknr^ss, and >vas carried fainting 



286 

Id bed. It was morning befoTe I came to the posses- 
sion of my faculties, when I saw my companion and 
preserver sitting by my bed side, and expressing in 
his looks the tenderest concern for my situation. My 
wounds had been dressed, and I was every way so re- 
eoveted, as to be able to converse with him, which, 
as soon as he perceived, he took me by the hand, and 
addressed me thus : '' Let it support you, my dear 
sir, to be assured that you are here under the kindest 
and most hospitable roof that the sun shines upon ; 
and the people to whom we are indebted for such a 
seasonable relief, are some of the best, if not the 
wealthiest, on earth. But if you, sir, have reason to 
rejoice, how supremely happy ought I to consider my- 
self, not because my life has been preserved, for that 
is no high price, but because, in this place I have re- 
covered that for which I most should wish to live — the 
best and most affectionate of wives. My poor Ma- 
tilda would follow me yesterday to the camp in spite 
of my persuasions : I would fain have lodged her in 
the garrison at Hamelen ; but a something which she 
had dreamed a week before, had made such a gloomy 
impression on her spirits, that she would not part from 
me till we took the field against the enemy. Having 
heard that I was among the slain, she betook herself 
last night to this little cottage, which is always open 
to misfortune, determined to search the field over as 
soon as it was light, for the body of her husband, to 
wash its wounds with her tears, and, perhaps, to lay 
down her life by its side. You may imagine, sir, what 
a delicious interview we have had, and how we haV6 
wept for joy in each other's arms." 



287 

As he spoke thus the door opened, and the lady in 
question entered the apartment with something which 
she said was for my breakfast. What blood was in 
my body at this moment rushed into my cheeks. 
" Alas ! sir," said she, perceiving my embarrassment^ 
" be not confused at seeing me thus employed ; I am 
never happier than when I am administering to a sick 
soldier ; it has been my occupation for years. 1 have 
been my poor husband's surgeon and nurse through 
seven campaigns, and God knows with what heart- 
felt joy I have many times torn my clothes to bind 
^p the wounds of brave gentlemen in the field of 
battle." 

As she spoke thus, I raised my head to contemplate # 
this uncommon person. Her form I could not judge 
of, for she had on a kind of military coat, buckled 
round her waist with a soldier's belt, but her face 
wore every mark of an extraordinary character : alas! 
it still lives, and breathes, and speaks in my ima- 
gination. 

Every feature in the face I was now contemplating 
was bold, and would have been mascuiine, were it- 
not for a certain dimpled expression about the mouth, 
which sent forth innumerable graces over the whple 
countenance. She was a native of a Danish island 
in the West-Indies ; indeed, nothing could be les? 
. German than the cast of her features ; her hair was 
nearly black. Her husband was a young man, every 
way worthy of her, and the truest soldier I ever be- 
held. His looks were full of spirit, tempered with an 
extraordinary gravity; his deportment =^olemn and 



288 

taciturn; his make uncommonly robust; his face not 
handsome, but dignified and benevolent ; he had little 
hair on his head, but profusion of it in his whiskers, 
under which, however, his mouth was well shaped 
and expressive, and his teeth delicately white. Vv hen 
on horseback and equipped for the field, he was the 
most martial figure in the whole army. His element 
was the camp, and he always seemed most possessed 
and collected in the moment of greatest peril. A 
thousand times have I seen him weep at the common- 
est tales of distress, and at such as the chances of 
battle were continually presenting before his eyes ; 
and then, in a minute after, rush like a lion into the 
♦ thickest of the fight, whence he would often return 
with the enemy's colours in his hands. 

We remained about a month under this kind roof ; 
in the mean time I was perfectly cured of my wound. 
One day, as we walked round the territory of our poor 
host, my companion and preserver thus addressed me : 
" I am happy beyond measure, Eugenio, that our care 
has been so completely rewarded by the restoration 
of your health. You have doubtless seen enough of 
military life to be heartily weary of such a course of 
danger and hardship. You have too, most certainly, 
dear friends, who wish for your return ; and you have 
abilities to shine in a more peaceful profession. I am 
a soldier, and nothing else : my home is the camp, 
and my wife, who is my only friend, attends me 
wherever I go. It is my determination to follow the 
army of the magnanimous king of Prussia, whose vir- 
tue I vc^nerate, and who will reward my exertions in 



289 

his service. My wife and myself always carry out 
fortune about with us. We have enough to enable 
you to travel homewards with comfort, and to reward 
this poor cottager for his kind reception of us besides." 
This was the first sensation, resembling joy, which I 
felt for a length of time. My colour, however, rose in 
my face, to think that so noble a friend should ima- 
gine me capable of deserting him. I strained him to 
my bosom with sincere delight, and assured him that 
nothing should induce me to leave him, while I 
thought my company would give him pleasure, or ren- 
der him service. It was determined, then, between 
us, to set out in a fortnight for the Prussian army. In 
the mean time, Matilda's health declined, and a cold 
which she had caught in the offices of humanity had 
fixed upon her lungs. It was with the greatest diffi- 
culty we persuaded her to remain where she was, till 
the conclusion of the next campaign. My friend left 
the greatest part of the little money he possessed, be- 
tween Matilda and the poor cottager and his wife^ 
and, on the loth of October, disguised as peasants, 
we bent our course towards the place where the Prus- 
sian troops, under the command of their illustrious 
monarch, lay encamped. 

The valour of my friend was sufficiently known to 
procure him a welcome reception ; and we were both 
in time to participate in the victory of Rosbach, which 
happened on the 5th of November following. It is 
unnecessary to relate the particulars of this battle ; it 
is enough to say, that my companion and myself, the 
one pushed on bv his mettle and courage^ the Qthe^ 

37 



290 

urged by desperation, drew the attention of the sove- 
reign and his whole army upon us, in the conduct of 
that memorable day. We followed the fortunes of 
this gallant prince through a course of splendid vic- 
tories, till, at the siege of Olmutz, a fatal stop was put 
to our career. 

We were taking too close a view of the enemy's 
works, when mf friend received a mortal wound, and 
fell by my side. Y\^hat my feelings were at such a 
crisis I leave you to imagine. He had applied his 
handkerchief to the wound ; and as I knelt down to 
receive his last breath, he laid upon me, with a voice 
scarcely audible, this melancholy command*: — " Take 
from my bosom my handkerchief steeped in my 
blood ; carry it to my wife— it is the token agreed 
upon between us ; and when she sees that, she will 
know I am dead, and what is raore, that I died an 
honourable death. !t will, moreover, save you, my 
dear friend, a painful recital. You will find my 
pocket book about nie ; carry it likewise to her, and 
take care of that excellent woman." With that he 
clasped my hand, and died without agony or distortion. 

I will hurry over the succeeding events as briefly 
as possible ; it will be to spare both you and myself. 
The body of my friend was bathed with unsuborned 
tears. Not a brother officer approached it, who did 
not bestow upon it this testimony of sorrow ; and 
the monarch himself was melted at the fatal intelli- 
scence. I stayed only to see him put into his grave, 
w\ith such military pomp as became a brave soldier, 
and such honourable grief as belongs to a virtuous 



291 

inan ; and having obtained permission of my general; 
set out on my melancholy errand with the fatal gift 
in my bosom. It may be as well to mention, that 
before I quitted the army of his Prussian majesty, I 
w^as complimented with the order of merit, and a 
present of three hundred ducats. No event that is 
worthy a relation happened to me during my journey. 

I passed over the scene of my first campaign, near 
Hestenbeck, till I came to the miserable pollard on 
the heath, where I first met my poor companion and 
preserver. Here a crowd of wretched ideas rushed 
into my mind. The wind seemed to sigh as it pass- 
ed me, the night was dreary and starless, and every 
thing was just in the same order as when I leaned 
against the self same tree, fainting with my wounds^^ 
and disposing myself for death. Again I seemed to 
hear the sound of horses hoofs ; again to see the 
lifted sabre ; again I thought I heard, in the hollow 
breezes as they passed me, the comforting voice of 
my departed friend ; till at length my fancy was so 
w^orked upon by my feelings, that I thought several 
times I saw^ his spirit move before me. I raised my 
eyes and beheld the same light gleaming from the 
cottage where the poor Matilda was left. My legs 
scarce supported me till I reached the door, 

How shall I describe the scene Avhich succeeded ! 
The fewest words will do it best. Matilda lay on 
her poor mattress, the prey of that disorder which 
had seized her the w^eek before our departure. She 
could hardly raise her languid head ; but when she 
flid. it was to recognise me, with a look so piercing 



292 

tender, that I thought I must have died ere I could 
expose the fatal token. As I fell on my knees, to 
bathe her hand with my tears, the bloody handker- 
chief dropped out of my bosom upon the bed. 
When I saw what was done, my eyes fastened trem- 
bling upon hers, where, however, 1 could perceive 
but little emotion. It was too late— her pulse was 
fluttering — her hand was convulsed— surely death 
never was so kind as now. She drew, however, the 
handkerchief to her, and could just articulate — " Bury 
it with me !" Poor Matilda ! It was indeed buried 
with thee, but not till it was as w^et with my tears as 
it had been with thy husband's blood. Alas ! how 
often has it been my fate to follow the virtuous to the 
%rave ! but heaven's will be done ! it will be reward 
enough, if one virtuous man shall weep over Eu- 
genio's tomb. 



DESCRIPTION OF A DINNER, 

Given to Mr. Umphraville, (a humourist,) by his cou- 
sin Mr, Bearskin. 

When we entered Mr. Bearskin's drawing-room, 
we found his wife sitting with her three daughters 

ready to receive us. It was easy to see by the air of 
the lady, that she was perfectly mistress of the house, 
and that her husband was only a secondary person 
there. He seemed, however, contented with his 

situatioo, and an admirer of his wife ; a sort of lap 



dog husband, (of whom I have seen many,) who 
looks sleek, runs about briskly, and though he now 
and then gets a kick from his mistress, is as ready to 
play over his tricks again as ever. 

Mr. Bearskin, after many expressions of his happi- 
ness in seeing his cousin in his new house, proposed 
walking us down stairs again, to begin showing it 
from the ground story upwards. Uniphraville, though 
I saw him sweating at the idea, was ready to follow his 
conductor, when we were saved by the interposition 
of the lady, who uttered a " Pshaw ! Mr. Bearskin," 
with so significant a look that her husband instantly 
dropped his design, saying, to be sure there was not 
much worth seeing, though he could have wished 
to have shown his cousin his study, w hich he thought 
was tolerably clever. " I thought, papa," said the 
eldest of the misses, " it was not quite in order yet." 
" Why, not altogether," replied the father ; " I have 
not been able to get up my heads, as Pope has lost 
an ear, and Homer the left side of his beard, by the 
carelessness of a packer : and 1 want about three 
feet and a half of folios for my lowest shelf." " I 
don't care if there was not a folio in the world," re- 
joined miss. '' Child !" ^aid her mother, in a tone of 
rebuke. Miss bridled up, and was silent ; I smiled * 
Umphraville walked to the window^, and wiped his 
forehead. 

Bearskin now pulled out his watch, and telling the 
hour, said, '- He wondered his friend Mr. Blubber 
was not come, as he was generally punctual to a 
minute," While he spoke, a loud rap at the door 



294 

annoimced the expected company ; and presently 
Mr. Blubber, his wife, a son, and two daughters, en- 
tered the room. The first had on an old fashioned 
pompadour coat, with gold buttons, and very volu- 
minous sleeves, his head adorned by a large major 
wig, with €uris as white and as stiff as if they had 
been cast in plaister of paris ; but the females, and the 
heir of the family, w^ere dressed in the very height of 
ihe mode. Bearskin introduced the old gentleman 
to his cousin, Mr. Uriiphraviile : " Mr. Blubber, sir, 
a very particular friend of mine, (and turning to me 
with a whisper,) worth four score thousand pounds, if 
he's worth a farthinir.'' Blubber said he feared he 
had kept us waiting ; but that his wife and daughters 
liad got under the hands of the hair dresser, and he, 
verily thought he would never have done with them. 
The ladies were too busy to reply to this accusation ; 
they had got into a committee of inquiry on Mr. 
Edward Blubber's waistcoat, which had been tam- 
boured, it seems, by his sisters, and was universally, 
declared to be monstrous handsome. The young- 
man himself seemed to be highly delighted with the 
reiiection of it in the mirror that stood opposite to 
him. "Isn't it vastly pretty, sir," said one of the 
young ladies to Umphravilie ? " Ma'am !" said he, 
starting from a reverie, in which I saw, by his counte- 
nance, he was meditating on the young gentleman 
and his waistcoat in no very favourable manner. I 
read her countenance, too ; she thought Umphravilie 
Just the fool he did her brother. 

Dinner was now announced, and the company, af- 



295 

ler some ceremony, got into their places at the table, 
in the centre of which, stood a sumptuous epargue, 
filled, as Bearskin informed us, with the produce of 
iiis farm. This joke, which, I suppose, was as regular 
as the grace before dinner, was explained to the igno- 
rant to mean, that the sweetmeats came from a plan- 
tation in one of the West India islands, in which he 
had a concern. The epargue itself now produced an- 
other dissertation from the ladies, and, like the waist- 
coat, was also pronounced monstrous handsome. Blub- 
ber, taking his eye half off a plate of salmon, to which 
he had just been helped, observed, " That it w^ould 
come to a handsome price too ; sixty ounces, Pll 
warrant it," said he : " but as the plate tax is now^ re- 
pealed, it will cost but the interest in keeping." " La I 
papa," said Miss Blubber, " you are alvvays thinking 
of the money, things cost." '• Yes," added her bro- 
ther, '• tables of interest are an excellent accom- 
paniment for a dessert." At this speech all the ladies 
laughed very loud. Blubber said he was an impu- 
dent dog, but seemed to relish his son's wit, notwith- 
standing. Umphraville looked sternly at hlai ; and, 
had not a glance of his waistcoat set him down as. 
something beneath a man's anger, I don't know what 
consequences might have follow^ed. During the rest 
of the entertainment, i could see the fumes of fool 
and coxcomb on every morsel that Umphraville 
swallowed, though Mis. Bearskin, next to whom he 
sat, was at great pains to help him to the nice bits of 
every thing within her reach. 

When dinner was over, Mr. Bliibbet mentioned his 



296 

design of making a tour through the Highiands, to 
visit Stirling, Taymouth, and Dunkeld ; and^ apply- 
ing to our landlord for some description of these 
places, was by him referred to Mr. Umphraviile and 
me. Mr. Umphraviile was not in a commuoicative 
mood ; so I was obliged to assure Mr. Blubber, who 
talked with much uncertainty and apprehension of 
these matters, that he would find beds and bed-clothes, 
meat for himself, and corn for his horses, at the seve- 
ral places above-mentioned ; that he had no danger- 
ous seas to cross in getting at them, and that there 
were no highwaymen upon the road. 

After this there was a considerable interval of si- 
lence, and we were in danger of getting once more 
upon Mr. Edward's fine waistcoat, when Mr. Bearskin, 
informing the company that his cousin was a great 
lover of music, called on his daughter, Miss Polly, for 
a song ; with which, after some of the usual apologies, 
she complied ; and, in compliment to Mr. Umphra- 
ville's taste, who she was sure must like Itahan music, 
she sung, or rather squalled, a song of Sacchini's, in 
which there was scarcely one bar in tune from the 
beginning to the end. Miss Blubber said, in her usual 
phraseology, that it was a monstrous sweet air — Her 
brother swore it was divinely sung — Umphraviile gul- 
ped dov» n a falsehood with a very bad grace, and said, 
Miss w ould be a good singer with a little more prac- 
tice ; a compliment which was not more distant from 
truth on one side, than from Miss's expectations on 
the otht^r, and l could plainly perceive, did not set 
him forward in the ilivour of the familv* 



OQt 



29 

'- My father is a judge of singing too," said Mr, 
Edward Blubber ; " what is your opinion of the song, 
sir ?" " My opinion is/' said he, " that your Italianas 
always set me asleep ; English cars should have En- 
glish songs, I think." " Then, suppose one of the la- 
dies should give us an Enghsh song," said I. "'Tis 
a good motion," said Mr. Bearskin, " I second it ; 
Miss Betsy Blubber sings an excellent English song." 
Miss Betsy denied stoutly that she ever sung at all ; 
but evidence being produced against her, she, at last, 
said she w^ould try if she could make out The Maid^s 
Choice. "Ay, ay, Betsy," said her father, "a very 
i^ood song, I have heard it before : 

« if I could but find, 



I care not for fortune, [umph !] a man to my mind." 

Migs Betsy began the song accordingly, and to 
make up for her want of voice, accompanied it with 
a great deal of action. Either from the accident of 
his being placed opposite to her, or from a sly appK- 
eation to his state as an old bachelor, she chose to 
personify the maid's choice in the figure of Umphra- 
viile, and pointed the description of the song particu- 
larly at him. Umphraville, with all his dignity, his 
abilities, and his knowledge, felt himself uneasy and 
ridiculous under this silly allusion of a ballad ; he 
blushed, attempted to laugh, blushed again, and still 
looked with that awkw^ard importance which only the 
more attracted the ridicule of the fools around him: 
Not long after, the ladies retired ; and no persuasion 
of his cousin could induce him to jstay th(^ ^veninsr^ 



298 

ox even to enter llie drawing-room where they wer§ 
assembled at tea. 

" Thank heaven !" said Umphraville, when the 
door was shut, and we had got fairly into the street, 
" Amen !" I replied, smiling, " for our good dinner 
and excellent wine." " How the devil, Charles,'^ 
said he, " do you contrive to bear all this nonsense 
with the composure you do ?" " Why, I have often 
told you, my friend, that our earth is not a planet fit- 
ted up only for the reception of wise men. Your 
Blubbers and Bearskins are necessary parts of the sys- 
tem ; they deserve the enjoyments they are capable 
of feeling ; and I am not sure if he who suffers from 
his own superiority, does not deserve his sufferings," 



SLAVERY. 



"Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, still thou 
art a bitter draught : and though thousands in all ages 
have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less 
bitter on that account. There are no slaves in hea- 
ven !" said my uncle, shutting up the book, after he 
had fetched a deep sigh. The thought seemed to 
ease the good man's mind. — He took out his tobacco 
box and began to fill his pipe. — His countenance wore 
a brighter aspect, and he seemed willing to change 
the subject of conversation to some topic less {tSLig- 
ful. But his antagonist could not let him rest in 
peace. " Tftere are no slaves in heaven I" echoed he. 



" what thefl will become of the negroes f'^ " They 
will be our equals, I should suppose, or our superiors," 
said my uncle. " They will !" exclaimed his anta- 
gonist ; '- a fine place heaven will be indeed! What, 
the negroes be our equals ! I should rather choose to 
go to hell than to heaven, if that is likely to be the 
case." " You may, perhaps, have your choice," said 
my uncle. " A negro, if he acts his part faithfully on 
the stage of life, has as good a right to Heaven as his 
master, even if his master should act his part well : 
and if his master behaves cruel, haughty, and morose 
to his servants, I think a faithful slave has the fairest 
title ; and shall, if the scriptures are true, be exalted, 
while his master shall be debased. I should never be 
content to be a slave myself," continued my uncle — 
" Until I can reconcile myself to a state of slavery, 1 
cannot think it justifiable for me to make a slave of a 
fellow creature, endowed with faculties and feelings 
similar to my own." " But," said his antagonist, " must 
we keep no slaves? Surely we may be allowed to 
keep them if we use them well. Slavery has been 
allowed and permitted in all ages of the world. The 
Israelites were allowed to keep slaves ; the Romans 
kept slaves ; and I see no reason why we should not 
keep them ; it is better for the negroes to be slaves 
than to be free ; they are not capable of taking care 
of themselves." 

•.. My uncle lit his pipe. *^' The children of Israel," 

4B^d he, " were a stifl-necked and a hard hearted peo- 

'^f^^ Moses, because of the hardncos of their hearts^ 

suffered them to put awny thciv wi\ es : and it niay be 



on tbat account that lie suffered them to keep slavey. 
Other nations, it is true, have kept slaves ; they have 
likewise practised many other vices and cruelties, but 
they have not altered the nature of them — Murder 
and adultery are still heinous crimes, although prac- 
tised more or less by every nation since the world be- 
gan. To keep a person in slavery is, in my opinion, 
a crime ; and the repetition of the crime can never 
lessen the guilt ; nor will the punishment be mitigated 
on account of the guilty. As to your doctrine, that 
the negroes are incapable of taking care of them- 
selves, I cannot believe it to be true ; I believe we 
had better let them try to take care of themselves be- 
fore we undertake to take care of them.'' My uncle 
ended his harangue — his antagonist made no reply — 
I took my hat and bid them a good night. " There 
are no slaves in heaven,'^ said I, as I walked home- 
tvard. Do the slave-holders ever think of heaven ? 
Or if they think of heaven, do they consider who is 
like to inhabit there ? Or if they think of these things, 
do they wish or expect to inhabit there themselves ? 
If they do, I am sure they must lead miserable lives, 
even in this world: what will be their situation in the 
nextj is not my business to guess. 



FILIAL PIETY. 

We set out from Glasgow by the way of Lane^^|j 
^he county town of Clyiitvc^aie, in the neighbour- 



1 

301 

hood ol* which, the whole river Clyde, rushing 
down a steep rock, forms a very noble and stupen- 
dous cascade. Next day we were obliged to halt in 
a small borouG;h, until the carriage, which had receiv- 
ed some damage, should be repaired ; and here we 
met with an incident which warmly interested the 
benevolent spirit of Mr. Bramble. As we stood at 
the window of an inn that fronted the public prison, 
a person arrived on horseback, genteely, though plain- 
ly dressed in a blue frock, with his own hair cut short, 
and a gold laced hat upon his head. Alighting and 
giving his horse to the landlord, he advanced to an 
old man who was at work in paving the streets, and 
accosted him in these words : " This is hard work 
for such an old man as you *,'' so saying, he took the 
instrument out of his hand, and began to thump the 
pavement. After a few^ strokes, " Have you ever a 
son," said he, " to ease you of this labour ?" " Yes^ 
and please you," replied the senior, " I have three 
hopeful lads, but at present they are out of the w^ay." 
" Honour not me," cried the stranger, " it more bcr- 
comes me to honour your gray hairs. Where are 
those sons you talk of." The ancient paver said 
" his eldest son was a captain in the East Indies ; 
and the youngest had lately enlisted as a soldier, in 
hopes of prospering like his brother." The gentle- 
man desired to know what was become of the second 5 
he wiped his eyes, and owned he had taken upon 
him his old father's debt^^. for which lie ^va? now in 
prison hard by. 

The traveller made three quick ?tep? to^yy^rd fhp: 



302 

jail, then turning, "Tell me," said he,^^ has that un- 
natural captain sent you nothing to relieve your dis- 
tresses ?" " Call him not unnatural," replied the 
other, " God's blessing be upon him ! he sent me a 
great deal of money, but I made bad use of it ; I 
lost it in being security for a gentleman that was my 
landlord, and Vi^as stiipt of all that I had in the world 
besides." At that instant a young man thrust out 
his head and neck between two iron bars in the 
prison window, exclaiming, " Father ! father ! if my 
brother William is in. life, that's he !" " I am ! I am!" 
cried the stranger, clasping the old man in his arms, 
and shedding a flood of tears, '' I am your son Willy, 
sure enough !" Before the father, who was quite con- 
founded, could make any return to such tenderness, 
a decent old woman, bolting out from the door of a 
poor habitation, cried, " W^here is my bairn, where 
is my Willy ?" The captain no sooner beheld her, 
than he quitted his father, and ran into her embrace. 
I can assure you my uncle, who saw and heard 
every tiring that passed, was as much moved as any 
of the parties concerned in this pathetic recognition. 
He sobbed, and wept, and clapped his hands, and hal- 
looed, and finally ran down into the street. By this 
time the captain had retired with his parents, and^ 
all the inhabitants of the place were assembled at 
the door. Mr. Bramble, nevertheless, pressed through 
the crowd, and entering the house, " Captain," said 
he, " I beg the favour of your acquaintance ; I would 
have travelled a hundred miles to see this affecting 
scene : and I shall think myself happy, if you and 



303 

your parents will dine with me at the public house.'*' 
The captain thanked him for his kind invitation, 
which he said he would accept with pleasure ; but, 
in the mean time, he could not think of eating or 
drinking, while his poor brother was in trouble. He 
forthwith deposited a sum equal to the debt in the 
hands of the magistrate, who ventured to set his 
brother at liberty without further process ; and then 
the whole family repaired to the inn with my uncle, 
attended by the crowd, the individuals of which 
shook their townsman by the hand, while he returned 
their caresses without the least sign of pride or af- 
fectation. 

This honest favourite of fortune, whose name was 
Brown, told my uncle that he had been bred a wea- 
ver, and, about eighteen years ago, had, from a spirit 
of idleness and dissipation, enlisted as a soldier in the 
service of the East India company ; that in the course 
of duty, he had the good fortune to attract the notice 
and approbation of Lord Clive, who promoted him 
from one step to another, till he attained the rank of 
captain and paymaster to the regiment, in which ca- 
pacity he had honestly amassed above twelve thou- 
sand pounds, and at the peace, resigned his commis- 
sion. He had sent several remittances to his father, 
who received the first only, consisting of one hundred 
pounds ; the second had fallen into the hands of a 
bankrupt ; the third had been consigned to a gentle- 
man of Scotland, who died before it arrived, so that 
it still remained to be accounted for by his executors. 
He now piresented the old man with iSfty pounds for 



his preseat occasions, over and above bank notes for 
one hundred, which he had deposited for his brother's 
release. He brought along with him a deed ready 
executed, bj which he settled a perpetuity of four 
score pounds upon his parents, to be inherited by 
their other two sons after their decease. He promis- 
ed to purchase a commission for his younger brother; 
to take the other as his own partner in a manufactory 
which he intended to setup ; to give employment and 
bread to the industrious ; and to give five hundred 
pounds, by way of dower, to his sister, who had mar- 
ried a farmer in low circumstances. Finally, he gave 
fifty pounds to the poor of the town where he was 
born, and feasted ail the inhabitants without ex- 
ception. 

My uncle Vt^as so charmed with the character of 
Captain Brown, that he drank his health three timef^ 
successively at dinner. He said he was proud of 
his acquaintance ; as he had in some measure redeem- 
ed human nature from the reproach of pride, selfish- 
ness, and ingratitude. For my part, I was as much 
pleased with the modesty as with the filial virtue of 
this honest soldier, who assumed no merit from his 
success, and said very little of his own transactions, 
though the answ^ers he made to our inquiries w^ere 
equally sensible and laconic. Mrs. Tabitha behaved 
very graciously to him, until she understood that he 
was going to make a tender of his hand to a person 
of low estate, who had been his sweetheart w^hile he 
worked as a journeyman weaver. Our aunt was no 
crooner made acquainted with this design, than she 



305 

starched up her behaviour with a double proportion 
of reserve ; and when the company broke up, she 
observed with a toss of her nose, that Brown was a 
civil fellow enough, considering the lowness of his 
origin ; but that fortune, though she had mended his 
circumstances, was incapable of raising his ideas, 
which Avere still humble and plebeian. 



PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF MARY BROWN, 

A young woman distinguished for personal beauty and 
early depravity ; and who was executed in Wales for 
being concerned ivith several others in a burglary. 
The account appears to be written by herself and is in 
substance as follows : 

She w^as the only daughter of a reputable shop- 
keeper in Staffordshire, whose affection for her indu- 
ced him to spare no expense in giving her an accom- 
plished education. From her earliest youth she w^as 
strongly addicted to pleasure, and her beauty exposing 
her to the grossest flattery, her pride increased with 
her years, and she soon formed the most ambitious 
views. At sixteen years of age, she left her father's 
house at night, and came upon the outside of a stage 
to London, where she determined to embrace the first 
offer of any man of opulence who should solicit her 
to live with him as a mistress. In a short time she 
attracted the notice of a baronet, wit.h whom she 



308 

readily consented to live ; for some months she liked 
him very well, but by degrees, began to hate him. 
Having had a few words together, she was determin- 
ed to be revenged; and accordingly one night she 
placed three fellows in one of the apartments, who 
stripped the house of all its valuables, and the next 
day she enjoyed the sorrow of a man she hated and 
despised. After leaving this gentleman, she took a 
large house at the west end of the town, and com- 
menced a fashionable courtezan ; but having con- 
tracted several large debts with different tradesmen, 
she married a common soldier, who was going abroad, 
and who, on being paid two guineas, was contented 
never to see her any more. This gave her an oppor- 
tunity to laugh at her creditors when they threatened 
to sue her for payment. She was once addressed by 
a foreigner in the street, who followed her home, con- 
ceiving her to be a needy creature of the town ; but 
upon entering her house, and viewing the elegance of 
her furniture, his sentiments were changed into admi- 
ration. Although he affected to be a man of proper- 
ty, she had penetration enough to discover that he was 
not accustomed to opulence : all his actions betray- 
ed the meanness of his education. She soon began 
to perceive that interest operated with him more 
powerfully than love, which was soon made manifest 
by her receiving intelligence that he was preparing to 
rob her house, and tly off with the booty to his native 
country. She was, however, quicker in her revenge 
than he was in his injury. The day before his intended 
flighty she invited him to her bed, and the next morn- 



307 

ing he was found dead upon the stahs, and no suspi- 
cion entertained of her having strangled him. Some 
months after this she was dazzled with the apparent 
opulence of a man who offered her his protection, 
and she became his mistress, but he turned out to be 
a professed gamester. With him she lived for some 
time in splendour, but a sudden change of fortune 
plunging them into distress, she advised him to in- 
vite one of his acquaintances to supper, to intoxicate 
and then rob him ; this was agreed upon, and the 
person came agreeable to invitation, but they 
could not prevail upon him to drink much. Finding, 
however, he had got a considerable sum about him, 
they were resolved not to lose so great a prize ; she 
went behind him with a silk sash, and throwing it 
round his neck, soon dispatched him ; they then seized 
upon his money, leaving him a few guineas and his 
w atch, and then calHng upon the servant in an affect- 
ed fright, ascribed his death to a fit of the apoplexy. 
Besides these attrocious acts, she confessed her 
having murdered her keeper a short time afterwards, 
and swore the fact to his own son, in revenge for his 
having refused to meet her advances ; and he was 
tried upon her evidence for the murder, and acquit- 
ted. Being compelled by the commission of num- 
berless crimes to leave England, she went into Wales, 
where she was concerned in several robberies, and 
suffered an ignominious death in the 21st year of her 
age. 



308 

THE INFLUENCE OF RICHES. 

By Peter Pennyless. 

" If I had just this," said I, as I was reading an ac- 
count in the news-paper, of a gentleman who had 
married an agreeable young lady with a fortune of 
ten thousand pounds ; — " If I had just this, I would 
journey cheerfully through life : a complaint should 
not be uttered from my mouth, and 1 would endea- 
vour to prevent those of other people. The hungry 
should not go away unsatisfied from my door; nor 
should the naked curse me while he sat shivering over 
a few dying embers, and the rude storm rattled on 
his ragged roof. I would," said I, "be a father to the 
fatherless, a husband to the widow : and I would — " 
but here a symphathetic tear stopped further ut- 
terance ; it had no power over the flowings of my 
heart— I thought I would make all around me happy. 
The wish was a kind of prophetic one ; Providence 
intended to put my virtue to the trial. I had just fi- 
nished the paragraph, and thrice wiped my eyes with 
a white cambric handkerchief ; it was from thee, Al- 
mira, I received it wet with the chrystal drops which 
had fallen for the death of an indulgent father — they 
have never yet been washed from it, nor shall they 
ever mix with the stream while I possess it, but 1 will 
add a few more to them, as often as all powerful na- 
ture shall call them from my eyes. I had just finished 
the paragraph, when the postman brought me a let- 



309 

ter, informing me that my brother Jacob, who had 
emigrated to the East Indies in order to get into some 
other family, had died, and left me ten thousand 
pounds. When I had finished the letter, I lifted up 
my white cambric handkerchief, which I had laid on 
the table — I lifted it — and put it into my pocket. 
When I read an account of the death of a brother, 
when I had taken up my white cambric handkerchief^ 
had I not informed the reader what I did with it, he 
w^ould naturally have concluded, that I used it either 
to wipe a tributary, or at least a fashionable tear from 
my cheek. I did neither. There is nothing more diffi- 
cult than to give a reason for every thing that hap- 
pens. I think, however, that I can give two for this, 
for there are two circumstances which render the mind 
less susceptible of the natural feelings upon the death 
of any relation. The first is, when we hardly know, 
or never were intimate with the deceased : and the 
second is, when he leaves any thing behind him va- 
luable enough to occupy the mind so much as to di- 
vert the melancholy feelings which would otherwise 
arise on the occasion. Now, both these circumstan- 
ces concurred in the present case : Jacob had begun 
his peregrination in the seventeeth year of his age, 
while I w2ls yet a child; our acquaintance had hardly 
begun, nor was it carried on by partaking of mutual 
diversions, or sharing in mutual hopes and fears. Thus 
he w^as unto me as an alien, and not as a brother ; 
and, moreover, he had left me as much as would 
have made many a one rejoice at the death of a bro- 
ther who had been brought up with him as such. I 



SIO 

had asked two or three of my neighbours to sup with 
me ; but I now wished I had not done it on account 
of the expense — tell me, nature, what is it, for I could 
never jet discover — tell me, what is it that contracts 
the heart on the acquisition of wealth ! " I am now 
no more of the family of Pennyless," said I, " I am 
a gentleman, and I will live as a gentleman," So I 
leaned my head backwards on the chair, and began 
to plan out a scheme for my future conduct in life. 
After I had turned it this way and that way, and, in 
short, every way that I could think of, it would not do. 
" I will go to bed," said I ; " a comfortable nap will 
refresh my mind, and this will make it do in the morn- 
ing." So I laid me down, and turned me to this side, 
and to that side, and put myself into this and that 
posture, but I could not get the nap I wanted ; nor 
would the scheme go out of my head. It was a max- 
im among the stoic philosophers, and adopted by 
many people as a dernier resource, to bear courage- 
ously up against the tide of misfortunes ; w4iile my 
blood and spirits rushed warmer into my veins than 
at this present moment, when they can hardly crawl 
along, I was fond of this method ; but I generally 
found it was spending my strength in vain. I have, 
therefore, long since adopted a quite different one, 
which is, to lay myself supinely on the surface of the 
stream, and glide with the current : when a rock or 
precipice seems to fall in my way, I paddle myself 
to- one side of it with a leg or an arm, and always 
give myself as little trouble on the occasion as possi- 
ble. I took this method in the present case, and since 



311 

the scheme would not go out of my head, resolved to 
let it continue there as long as it pleased. So I pro- 
secuted it all night, and, about nine o'clock in the 
morning, had fixed on a plan. I had no sooner fixed 
upon it, than I got out of bed, wrote it down upon a 
piece of paper, with my annual income upon one co- 
lumn, and my expenses upon the other ; when, to my 
great mortification, I found that the expense, as I had 
planned it, would be exactly seven pounds thirteen 
shillings and sixpence halfpenny above my income. 
I then ran over all the other plans which I had thought 
of during the night : there were none of them that 
would answer, and this could not be executed upon 
one single farthing less than I had estimated it at. 
Had I just this seven pounds thirteen shillings and six 
pence half penny, said J, it w^ould make me com- 
pletely happy. So I began to revolve in my mind, 
with the utmost earnestness, how I should obtain it. 
" I will conceal," said J, " my having gotten the mo- 
ney for a year ; it will then amount to ten thousand 
five hundred pounds, which will easily bring matters 
to bear." On further reflection, this would not do ; I 
had told the story the night before, and it was flying 
among all the neighbours. 

While I was in this dilemma, the maid came to 
tell me that old Peter was at the door. Now Peter^ 
on account of his name, was a weekly pensioner, en 
whom I had long been accustomed to bestow a penny 
every Saturday morning : the girl had told him of my 
good fortune, and he, no doubt, had reckoned some- 
thing upon it ; " bid him go jibout his business," said T^ 



v>16) 



12 

in an angry lone : but my heart smote me as I said 
it; and I remembered the promises I had made 
when I received the letter. "Just Fleaven! is it 
thus," said I, " that we sport with our vows ! I will 
go this moment and give him sixpence at least" So 
I put my hand into my pocket and walked hastily to 
the door — " Peter !" said avarice, Avhile I was going 
out at it, and had gotten the sixpence ready, " you 
are at this moment short of your reckoning seven 
pounds thirteen shillings and six pence half penny, 
and yet you are going, like a fool, to give away your 
money." At this very instant, old Peter bowed to 
me with a most piteous countenance ; the look, me- 
thought, seemed to cry aloud — this is what I did not 
expect ! I stood at the door, agitated between two 
violent passions — charity bade me reach out my hand, 
give it — avarice contradicted it ; so I would give it^ 
and I would not give it : Peter saw my distress, and 
modestly walked out, and shut the street door behind 
him. He was no sooner gone, than I cursed him for 
departing : I was convinced that I should have given 
it to him if he had staid ; and laid all the blame upon 
his precipitate retreat — which ought naturally to have 
fallen on the badness ofmy heart. I put up the six- 
pence, walked into the rOom again, and sat down to 
breakfast. There were |:wo things that embarrassed 
me so much that I could not eat ; the first was, the 
want of the seven pounds thirteen shillings and six- 
pence halfpenny; the second was the figure of old 
Peter, which presented itself to my imagination, sit- 
ting shivering in his hovel, through every cranny of 



313 

which the bleak wind was whistling, and disturbing 
his hoary locks, while he was every now and then 
casting a melancholy look around him, in quest of 
something to re-kindle the poor remains of a fire just 
expiring — and, with a despairing eye, exploring every 
corner for a scanty crust, or any thing to allay his crav- 
ing appetite. Methought, when he had in this man- 
ner rummaged the whole hovel, and could find no- 
thing either to mitigate his cold or hunger, that he 
sat down upon his chair, leaned his head upon his 
hand, turned up his eyes to heaven, and gave a sigh, 
the sigh, I thought, was accompanied with a curse 
upon me, for having denied his usual boon : " what 
will become of him," said I ; " he must expire before 
Monday" — so I took out the sixpence, and looking at 
it, " may no person ever suffer so much for the want of 
you as he just now does : nor ever feel so sharp a 
pang for possessing you as I do," said I. " Perhaps 
all that has now passed before me may be an illu- 
sion," said I, " and he may, at this instant, be beg- 
ging at the corner of a street, from somebody as 
hard-hearted as myself; I will go immediately and 
find him out ; and if I do not find him, I will find 
plenty of others to bestow something upon who may 
be in as much want." So I put eleven shillings and 
nine pence in my pocket, and went out, resolved to be= 
stow every farthing of it in charity before I should re- 
turn. I had gotten but a little way from my own door, 
when I saw a poor man at a distance, standing in a sup- 
pliant posture : my niggard heart revolted against all 
the resolutions I had made : "it is he." said I, " and I 

40 



314 

must give away my money, although I Isave aheady 
seven pounds thirteen shillings and six pence half 
penny per annum too little." 

When I approached the man, and found it was not 
him, my heart rejoiced within me as I passed by. In 
going through several parts of the town, I met a va- 
riety of objects of charity ; but I industriously kept 
from looking at any of them, lest pity should over- 
come avarice, and force a passage into my heart. 
While f shunned every other beggar, I would have 
persuaded niys^lf that I wanted to meet Peter ; but 
it was only a pretence — for I got home with every 
farthing of the money in my pocket which I had car- 
ried out. A semblance of virtue will often stifle the 
monitor within us. I had done my duty, I thought, 
with respect to Peter ; and if I had not given him 
the money at first, nor found him out now, it was not 
my fault ; so I sat down to dinner, and began to con- 
sider how I could get the seven pounds, thirteen shil- 
lings and six pence half penny per annum that I 
wanted. On Sunday, at church, my head was full 
of it — it was full of it all the week, till Friday even- 
ing, when I came home and found another letter 
upon my table, informing me, that my brother's ef- 
fects had turned to much better account than was 
expected ; and that instead of ten, I should get at 
least twenty thousand pounds — " I will double the 
plan I had formed before," said I — " and then I shall 
appear somebody — but in order to do this, I want 
fifteen pounds seven shillings and a penny : if I had 
just this, I should undoubtedly be happy." There are 



315 

no^imits to avarice — I now spent as uneasy a nighi^ 
contriving how to acquire this fifteen pounds odd, as 
I had done before on account of the half of it. I rose 
about eight o'clock in the morning, and taking hold 
of the right knee of my breeches in order to put them 
on, all the money in the pocket of them fell on the 
floor ; on gathering it up, and counting it, I found ex- 
actly the eleven shillings and nine pence — " I never 
carried money so long before," said I, "without part- 
ing with some of it. O conscience ! conscience ! 
however we may attempt to stifle thee, thou art a 
faithful monitor, and will be perpetually endeavour- 
ing to rouse us from the indulgence of our criaies. 
When I saw the money untouched thou toldest me 
{ had done amiss — and I listened to what thou toldest 
me. When I had but little to spare, I always gave 
a part of that little ; and never, till I became pos- 
sessed of much, did I carry a sum so long undi- 
minished in my pocket ; but I will now atone for 
my fault." While 1 said this, I felt benevolence rush- 
ing warm into my heart. There is nothing better 
than to seize a lucky moment : now Peter at this 
very moment hit the door with the knocker ; and as 
it was about the usual time of his coming, the sound 
of the knocker hit my heart — " You" said I, looking 
at the eleven and nine pence in my hand ; " you shall 
pay the forfeit of my crimes — ^long have you shut 
out every social feeling from my heart ; but you shall 
never have it in your power to do so again." So I 
f^ent the old man away rejoicing. 



■c^ 



16 



ON SOCIETY. 

BIak has been defined by some a risible, by others' 
a reasonable creature ; but the epithet of sociable 
l3elongs to him as properly as any other. As soon 
as men begun to unite more closely, and dwell toge- 
ther in societies, reason, or a kind of instinct, taught 
them that there was regard due from one to the other; 
which regard was diversified by each society, accord- 
ing to its particular genius. The Asiatics, who 
shared in a lively imagination, a tender heart, and a 
supple mind, were almost guilty of excess in the 
expressions of their civilities. The humble manner 
in which Abraham and Lot received the Angels, 
whom they took for men ; the submission with which 
Abigail addressed herself to David, to appease his 
wrath, and many other instances, are strong exam- 
ples of this eastern complaisance, which was carried 
to the greatest height by the Assyrians, Medes, and 
Persians, who were bred up in the strictest principles 
of passive obedience, and were wont to worship abso- 
lute power in its worst of shapes. The Europeans, of 
a graver and more phlegmatic disposition, a greater 
soul, and a temper not easily to be subdued or con- 
trolled, expressed their friendship, esteem, or respect, 
in a plainer or less servile manner. Accordingly, we 
find that the Greeks, accustomed to that equality 
whereby free and popular states arc distinguished, 
despised, and contemned, a:? the meanest prostitu- 



^17 

tion, that supine grovelling homage exacted from, 
those kings of Persia in whose service they had cou- 
rageously exposed their lives : though, at the same 
time, they were the politest people of the then 
known world, and as remarkable for their courteous- 
ness and good breeding, as for their skill in all the arts, 
both at war and peace. Notwithstanding the man- 
ners of the inhabitants of Italy had been very much 
softened by the mixture of several Greek colonies : 
yet, they appear to have been downright honest peo- 
ple, rather than fine gentlemen. Rome, at first, was 
only a confused heap of uncivilized nations. Addicted 
to rural concerns, and engaged in perpetual wars, they 
long retained their genuine rusticity : the constitution 
of their government first polished them : the common 
people became submissive and respectful, while am- 
bition taught those in higher stations affability. At 
length, towards the end of their commonwealth, and 
under their first emperors, plenty, luxury, letters, but 
especially their intercourse with the Greeks, who, 
after the loss of liberty, had improved their manners, 
made the Romans excel all other nations in polite- 
ness, as well as power ; so that th^y were proud of 
nothing, so much as what they called Roman urban- 
ity. This, in time, altered insensibly for the worse, 
and, at the dismembering of the empire, degenerated 
into fulsome comphments, and nauseous adulation. 
Hence we may conclude, that it has fared witli polite- 
ness, as with most other things : they rise from small 
beginnings, and by slow degrees ; are next carried as 
far as they can go : but, having attained the summit 



S18 

of their maturity, suddenly experience a rapid decay. 
They must be compared to the stone of Sysiphus, 
which being rolled up hill with uncommon pains, no 
Sooner reaches the top, than back it tumbles with 
irresistable force* Riches and power, virtue and 
learning, honour and morality; nay, religion itself 
had the same fate among all nations, and in all 
ages : Rome, Carthage, Athens, and Sparta ; the two 
former competitors for the empire of the world, the 
latter for that of Greece, are striking proofs of what is 
here asserted. Rome, till the end of the second 
Punic war, struggled hard with her neighbours for a 
smaOer territory than what is at present possessed by 
the Pope. Then she was valiant, honest, and labo- 
rious. She afterwards waged war with mighty king- 
doms, and became formidable to the greatest princes : 
then she grew learned, knowing, polite, and magnifi- 
cent. She at last arrived at such a height of wealth 
and power as to overcome all that withstood her, es- 
tablish her dominion without controul^ and reign mis- 
tress of the world : Then she became covetous and 
dishonest, Inxurious and effeminate, and fell in her 
corruption, a victim to the talents, the enterprise and 
the ambition of one of her own citizens. Similar has 
been the fate of even the best governments: but 
though all things are prone to change and decay, it is 
a duty v/e owe to God, and our country demands it — > 
to ward off, as long as may be, that depravity of mind, 
and that corruption of manners which the experience 
of all ages assures us will sooner or later overtake 
nations, and plunge them from power and enjoyment, 



319 

into misery and contempt — from the polish of civill 
zation to the barbarism of the savage state. It is 
enough to submit to the abject change when it be- 
comes enevitable : it is inexcusable to invite it 
sooner. Let Americans remember this. But lest the 
picture I have drawn may seem too serious to some, i 
shall conclude with a story which may serve to en- 
liven a little what otherwise might appear to be 
gloomy. 

About a century ago, a venerable old man, who 
had passed all the offices in one of the chief towns 
in Holland, with honour and applause, and had gained 
great riches without reproach, had some thoughts of 
returning to his country seat. In order to take leave 
of his friends and acquaintance in a handsome man- 
ner, he invited them, young and old, of both sexeSj 
(and they were people of the best fashion in the 
place,) to an entertainment at his own house. They 
met together with great expectations ; but, to their 
no small surprise, saw a long table, hardly covered 
witii a scanty blue cloth, on which were alternately 
placed platters full of buttermilk, and sour crout, 
heaps of pickled herrings, and huge cheeses ; the rest 
of die cheer was made up with butter and roggen 
brodt or rye bread, and cans of small beer were at 
hand for those that had a mind to drink ; trenchers 
served instead of plates, and not a servant attended. 
The company secretly cursed the old man's humour, 
but out of lespsct to his great age, and still greater 
merit, bridled their resentment, and affected to be 
content wiih their homely fare. The old gentlenxan 



320 

seeing the joke take, was unwilling to carry it too far, 
and soon shifted the scene. Two boorin maids, in 
cleanlj country garbs, appeared at their master's call, 
with a second course ; the blue cloth was exchanged 
for white linen, the platters and trenchers were trans- 
formed into pewter, the mean food into good salt beef 
and boiled fish, the brown into household bread, and 
the small beer into wine. The guests grew better 
pleased, and the master of the feast became more 
earnest in his invitations. After he had given them 
time to eat of his second course, at a signal he made, 
the third was served up by a maitre de hotel, in form^ 
followed by half a dozen powdered lackies in gaudy 
liveries. The most beautiful flowered damask was 
spread over the table, the richest plate and most cu- 
rious china adorned the sideboard, whilst a profusion 
of soups, olios, tame and wild fowl, ragouts, blanc 
mangers — in a word, all that the art of a modern 
French cook could produce, ranged in a well disposed 
judicious order, seemed to court the taste and renew 
the appetite of the whole company. Add to this — 
strong bodied chateau margou, generous Burgundy, 
sparkling champaign — in short, a choice of the best 
wines that commerce could procure: and that no- 
thing might be wanting that might delight the senses^ 
by the time a sumptuous desert was brought in, a 
melodious concert, made up of an agreeable variety 
of instruments, was heard in the next room. Healths 
went round, mirth increased, and the old man seeing 
that nothing but his departnre, and that of the grav- 
est of the company, was waited for to give a loose 



321 

io joy and pleasure, arose and made the following 
discourse : — " Ladies and gentlemen, I heartily thank 
you for this favour : it is time for one of my age to 
withdraw : but I hope those that are disposed for dan- 
cing will accept of a ball, which I have ordered to 
be prepared for you. Before the fiddles strike up, 
give me leave to make a short reflection upon this 
entertainment, which otherwise would appear whim- 
sical, or the effects of humour only: it may serve to give 
you an idea of our commonwealth. By living after 
that penurious manner exhibited in the first course, 
our ancestors raised their infant state, and acquired 
liberty, wealth, and power. These were preserved by 
our fathers, who lived in that handsome but plain way 
you have seen in the second course. But, if an old 
man may be permitted, before he leaves you whom 
he dearly loves, to speak his thoughts freely, I am 
indeed afraid that that extravagant plenty you have 
observed in the last course, will, if persisted in, de- 
prive us of those advantages which our ancestors 
earned by the sweat of their brows, and which our 
fathers, by their industry and good management, have 
transmitted to us. Young people ! I advise you to 
be merry this evening ; but think seriously to-morrow 
upon whatlhave been telhng you to-day. Goodnight.'' 



A SOLDIER having returned from foreign service^ 
with some' honourary distinctions for his gallant be- 
"haviour, married a village beauty, for whom he left 

*1 



322 

his country, but in less than a week the soldier was^ 
called to the field. His bride, notwithstanding his tender 
persuasions to the contrary, determined to follow him 
and share his fortune, and succour him in distress. Her 
zeal, however, was more than her strength ; she fell sick 
with fatigue, and was left about the distance of a league 
from the hill where the troops encamped. The com- 
mander, to prevent his men from injuring the neigh- 
bouring peasants, by robbing their vineyards, drew 
a line round the camp, and proclaimed, that who- 
ever passed it, should suffer as a deserter. Three days 
had now passed since the husband had heard from his 
wife. 

BE. 

For me, her native home, he said> 

For me, each weeping friend ! 
For me, a father's arms, she fled : 

And shall not love attend ? 

Now, now she weeps at my delay : 

And shall neglect be mine ? 
Submit ye fears to pity's sway 

He said, and crost the line. 



Is this, oh ! blasting view, she cry'fl, 
I'he youth who lov'd so well ? 

His love for me, the law defy'd, 
And for that love he fell. 

When will the grave this form receive. 
The grave to which he's fled ? 

Here, only here, I'll cease to grieve ■ 
She spoke, and join'd the dead. 



823 

As he returned at midnight, he was seized, con- 
demned, and executed the next day ; just as he fell, 
the wife, breathless and pale, rushed through the 
crowd, and lifting up the cloth that had been thrown 
over him, found ^^^his body so disfigured by the shot 
that it could scarce be known. 



A TRUE AND VERY REMARKABLE STORY. 

A MAN of fashion, in one of the French provinces, 
paid his addresses to a young lady of beauty, rank, and 
distinguished merit. A6 there was a parity in* years 
and in situation, the l^^dy received her gallant with 
the accustomarycondescension females seldom with- 
hold from those w^iom they are taught to pronounce 
upon an equality with themselves. The parents of 
the young lady, however, from whatever motive, dis- 
approved of the match. The gentleman pleaded— 
but i ll vainj ^ and, finding it impossible' to overcome 
the/age dj'oBirina^y of 'tfi^arents, he resolved to soli- 
cit his charmer's consent to enter into the holy bands 
of matrimony, uithout any farther consultation with 
the parents, wljp seemed so resolutely to persist in a 
denial.. Having fully explained himself on this head, 
the young lady, after recovering from a confusion, 
which ever on these occasions is visible among the 
virgin fair, consented to become his wife : they were 
wedded, and the marriage kept a profound secret. It 
happened that, after a few years had elapsed, the 



a24 

husband was obliged to leave his lovely bride, 
being called into a foreign country, in order to adjust 
some family affairs, which required his immediate 
presence. The necessity was no less urgent than disa- 
greeable to both parties ; however, they permitted 
good sense to operate, and after vowing mutual affec- 
tion and fidelity, they parted in certain expectation 
of seeing each other, at a time when such an altera- 
tion should take place as might afford them an op- 
portunity of living in a manner every way becoming 
a happy and virtuous wedded pair. For some time 
they corresponded, but the husband, being obliged to 
cross several tempestuous seas, did not receive such 
frequent answers to his epistles as he had reason to 
expect. This he attributed to the difficulty of convey- 
ance, rendering a regular correspondence imprac- 
ticable ; and as he imagined his letters had miscarri- 
ed, he resolved for the present to desist from writing, 
not relishing the idea of having his sentiments canvass- 
ed over by indifferent strangers, or perhaps captious 
enemies. Another reason, ^Ybich induced him to lay 
aside all thoughts of continiing an 'epistolary corres- 
pondence, was the prospect he had of shortly return- 
ing to France, where the presence of his amiable con- 
sort would infinitely exceed all ideal interviews, and 
make ample amends for every pang his heart had 
undergone. 

It is now time we should return to the lady. As 
she possessed a considerable share of youth and beau- 
ty, it was not to be supposed she could long remain 
without a train of admirers. Her parent?^, who never 



525 

dreamt about their daughter's previous marriage, be- 
came each day more anxious to select a person whose 
mental and corporeal endowments might, in their 
estimation, render him w^orthy their daughter's hand 
and heart. Several years had now rolled on, without 
the lady's hearing a syllable of her real husband. — 
At last, the fatal news arrived that he was now no 
more. The lady was inconsolable, but she found it 
prudent to stifle her griefs, that she might obliterate 
the smallest degree of suspicion. When she had paid 
every tribute consistent with reflection to the memory 
of her departed lord, a gentleman was proposed by 
her parents for her approbation, and the good old 
people were so prejudiced in favour of the person 
they had introduced, that they gave their daughter to 
understand their happiness depended on her com- 
pliance. The young lady, who thought herself en- 
tirely at liberty to commit a second trespass upon 
hymen, after some little hesitation, consented ; the 
nuptials were celebrated ; the lady, if not happy, was 
placid and serenely content ; the parents were de- 
lighted, the bridegroom was enraptured, and all were 
jocund, all were sprightly. 

For four years this newly married couple lived in 
perfect harmony ; but at length, an intermitting fever 
seized upon the lady ; the physicians were baffled, 
and she, to all appearance, paid the debt due ta 
nature. She was buried with pomp, and every re- 
verence shown to her memory the custom of the 
country would admit of. During her last illness, her 
former husband, whom we left abroad, returned, and, 



326 

after making the necessary inquiries, was informed of 
every circumstance we have related above. As he 
was unwilling to surprise her whilst she combated 
with sicknesSj he had employed a trusty person to 
make him acquainted with each particular of her 
case ; and, the instant the news of her death reached 
his ears, a frantic wildness seized his soul, and he re- 
solved to receive no manner of sustenance, but to 
bury himself amongst the mould which laid lightly 
on her breast, and thus pine out the short remaining 
period of his existence. Full of this resolution, he 
repaired, the night she was buried, to her tomb ; and^ 
after digging up the earth, he discovered her coffin, 
fetched a deep sigh, and was about to stretch his 
ivearied limbs, when, to his consternation, astonish- 
ment, and affright, he perceived signs of life — he tore 
open the coffin, and found it even as he suspected — 
his wife w^as almost suffiicated ; he snatched her up 
in his arms, conveyed her to the house of a neighbour- 
ing friend, had her instantly put into a warm bed, 
and in a few weeks she was perfectly restored to life 
and to health. As she had a real affection for her first 
husband, she made no scruple of choosing him for her 
companion ; but, as the affair soon made a prodigious 
noise throughout the country, the second husband, 
who also doated on her to distraction, no sooner was 
informed of the particulars, than he attempted to force 
her to live with him ; the prior claimant as resolutely 
persisted in keeping her to himself. In short, a law- 
suit was commenced ; the most learned advocates in 
France were employed; a redundancy of erudition 



327 

was displayed ; and, after being litigated for a con- 
siderable length of time, a solemn decision was given 
in favour of the gentleman who had first married her. 
This story has so much the air of fable and romance, 
that, to leave an impression of its tmth on the mind 
of the reader, it may be proper to inform him that the 
French lawyers have selected all the famous trials, 
with the decisions which have been given in their 
courts for a series of years, among which this is to 
be found. 



A REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF FILIAL PIETY. 

About ten or twelve years ago an officer of the 
guards, being in Essex on a recruiting party, made a 
short stay at Chelmsford, where he picked up several 
recruits. The evening preceding the day appointed 
for his departure from that town, a very tall youth, of 
a most engaging figure, whose open, honest counte- 
nance was sufficient to prejudice any one in his favour, 

offered himself. Captain , at the very first sight, 

wished to have this young fellow in his company : he 
observed him tremble whenhe made the offer to enlist. 
Attributing this emotion to timidity, or perhaps the un- 
easiness a young man might feel at selling himself, 
who is sensible of the value of liberty. He betrayed 
his suspicions on this head, and endeavoured to en- 
courage him. " Ah ! sir," rephes the youth, " do not at- 
tribute my confusion to such base motives ; it arisen 
only from the dread of being refused : you, perhaps. 



S2S 

will not accept of me, and should this be the case, 
how dreadful is my misfortune !" Some tears escaped 
him, as he finished this speech. The captain as- 
sured him he was ready to enlist him, and demanded 
his terms. "I cannot propose them without trembUng,'' 
answered the youth ; " perhaps they will disgust you. 
I am young — ^you see my size — I am able in every 
respect, and willing to serve his majesty ; but an un- 
fortunate circumstance obliges me to stand upon 
terms that doubtless you will think exorbitant; I 
cannot make the least abatement : be assured, with- 
out the most pressing reasons, I should not sell my 
service ; but necessity has no law ; I cannot enlist 
under ten guineas, and you will break my heart if 
you refuse to take me upon these terms." " Ten gui- 
neas !" replied the officer, " the sum is considerable I 
acknowledge, but I like you, and you seem willing, 
so I shall not stand haggling with you — there is the 
money ; the sergeant will see you properly attested, 
and keep youi-self in readiness to march at an hour's 
notice." The youth readily signed the certificate, and 
received the ten guineas with as much thankfulness 
as if they had been given him as a present. He then 
requested his captain to permit him to go and fulfil 
a sacred obligation, promising to return to his quarters 
instantly. The captain remarking something extra- 
ordinary in the behaviour of the youth, curious to 
discover the motives of his conduct, he watched him 
slily, and observed him run to the county jail, (his 
hurry prevented him from taking notice of the cap- 
tain.) tnock briskly at the door, and the moment it 



329 

was opened, called out to the jailer, "here is the 
debt and costs in the action on which my father has 
been arrested ; I deposit it in your hands ; conduct 
me to him, that I may have the pleasure of setting 
him at liberty." The officer stops a minute to give 
him time to reach his father alone, and then enters 
into the prison. He sees the youth clasped in the 
arms of an old man, whom he is ready to smother 
with his caresses and tears, and informs him that he 
has purchased his liberty at the price of his own : the 
person embraces him again. The officer, moved to 
compassion at this affecting sight, advances, and says 
to the old man, " comfort yourself I will not take your 
son from you ; I will share the merit of his worthy 
deed : he is free as well as you, and I regret not, in 
the least, a sum of which he has made so noble a use : 
there is his discharge." The father and son threw 
themselves at his feet : the last declined accepting 
his proffered liberty, and conjures the captain to per- 
mit him to join the regiment, saying he should only 
be burthensome to his father, who had no further 
need of him ; the officer cannot refuse his request. 
The youth served the usual time, always saved some- 
thing from his pay, which he constantly remitted to 
his father, and when he got his discharge, returned 
home, and has ever since maintained the old man by 
his industr\% 



4'2 



330 

THE GENEROUS PEDLAR, 

A True Story. 

An inhabitant of a villasfe in the circle of Suabia 

o 

was reduced to the most extreme poverty. For some 
days his family had subsisted only on a little oat- 
meal ; and this being exhausted, their misery was 
extreme. A baker, to whom the father owed nine 
crowns, refused, with unrelenting cruelty, to supply 
them with any more bread till this sum was paid. 
The cries of his wretched babes, almost expiring for 
want, and the tears of an affectionate wife, pierced 
him with unutterable anguish. " Dearest husband," 
said the distracted mother, " shall we suffer these 
miserable infants to perish ! have we given them 
birth only to behold them die of hunger ! see these 
poor victims, the fruits of our love, their cheeks al- 
ready covered with the paleness of death ! for me — I 
expire with grief and misery. Alas ! could I but yet 
preserve their lives at the expense of my own — Run, 
ily to the next town — speak our distresses — let not a 
false shame conceal them ! every moment you lose 
is a dagger to your dying family. Perhaps Heaven 
may yet be touched by our miseries — you may find 
some good heart who may yet relieve us." The un- 
happy father, covered with rags, and more resembling 
a spectre than a man, hastened to the town. He in- 
treated, he solicited, he described his wretched situa- 
tion with that affecting eloquence which the bitter- 
ness of anguish must inspire. In vain he implored 
compassion. Not one would hear him — not one 



331 % 

would assist him. Rendered desperate by such un- 
expected crueUy, he entered into a wood, determined 
to attack the first passenger. Dire necessity now ap- 
peared a law, and an opportunity soon occured. A ped- 
lar was passing by ; he stopped him. The pedlar made 
not the least resistance, but gave up his purse, con- 
taining twenty crowns. No sooner had the unfortu- 
nate man committed this robbery, than he felt the 
horrors of remorse, and returning to the pedlar, he 
threw himself, all in tears, at his feet. " Take back 
your money," said he, " believ^e how much it has cost 
me before I could be resolved to commit this crime. 
My heart has been unused to guilt. Come, I beseech 
you, to my cottage. You will there see the only mo- 
tives that could lead me to this action, and when you 
view the deplorable condition of my family you will 
forgive — you will pity me — you will be my benefac- 
tor, my preserver." The poor honest pedlar raised 
the unfortunate man, and comforted him. Unable 
to withstand his solicitations, or rather yielding to the 
feehngs of his own compassionate heart, he hesitated 
not to follow the peasant. But with what emotions 
did he enter his ruinous habitation ! How moving 
every object ! the children almost naked, lying on 
straw, dying with hunger, and the mother-— what an 
object was the wretched mother! The peasant re- 
lates the adventure to his wife. " You know," said 
he, " wilh what eagerness I went to town, in the 
hope of finding some relief. But, ah ! I met only 
hard hearts, people busied in amassing riches, or in 
dissipating wliat they already have in luxury and idle 



SS2 

expenses. Refused by all — desperate— furious — I 
went into a neighbouring wood — can you believe it ! 
I have dared to lay violent hands on this good man — 
I have dared — Oh ! I cannot tell you." " Pity my 
poor babes," exclaimed the distracted mother, looking 
with moving earnestness at the pedlar ; " consider 
our miserable situation. Alas ! poverty hath not al- 
tered our sentiments. In all our misery we have yet 
preserved our honesty. I beseech your mercy for my 
husband — I implore your compassion for these wretch- 
ed infants. The good pedlar, melted by this melan- 
choly scene, mingled his tears with those of the poor 
people. " I am your friend," said he. " Take these 
twenty crowns— I insist upon it. Why is not my ability 
equal to my good wishes for you ! I grieve that I can- 
not secure you a happier lot for the future." " What !" 
answered the peasant, " instead of treating me as 
your enemy, are you so good as to be my protector ! 
would you be my preserver ! Alas ! my crime renders 
me unworthy of this goodness. No! if I die with 
hunger, I will not take the money." The pedlar still 
insisted and compelled him to take it. The whole fa- 
mily kissed the benevolent hand which had thus pre- 
served thenf from death. Tears only, on every face, 
could speak their grateful hearts, and the pedlar retired 
with that sweet delight which benevolent minds alone 
can taste. Oh ye ! on Avhom fortune smil-es, the gay, 
the proud, the affluent, the avaricious ! after this ex- 
ample of benevolence in a poor pedlar, can your hearts 
be ever inaccessible to pity ! can you henceforth be- 
hold unmoved the sufferings of your fellow creatures!' 



333 



will you never feel the delight of doing good ? Oh I 
sleep not in the bosom of affluence. Fortune is in- 
constant. Enjoy her present favours ; but forget not 
this important truth, that your superfluities, at least; 
are the patrimony of the poor. 



AFFECTING ANECDOTE OF THE LATE CHARLES 
CHURCHILL. 

As he was staggering home late one night from a 
party, with some of his libertine companions, he was 
accosted by a female, Avho had something in her air and 
manner, so difl*erent from those outcasts of humanity 
who offer themselves to casual prostitution in the 
streets, that his curiosity was struck, and he stopped 
to take more particular notice of her. She appeared 
to be about fifteen ; her figure was elegant, and her 
features regular ; but want had sicklied over their 
beauty, and all the horrors of despair gloomed through 
the languid smile she forced when she addressed him. 
The sigh of distress, which never struck his ear with- 
out affecting his heart, came with double force from 
such an object. He viewed her with silent compassion 
for some moments, and reaching her a piece of gold, 
bade her go home and shelter herself from the incle- 
mency of the weather at so late an hour. Her surjirise 
and joy at such unexpected charity overpowered her : 
%he dropped upon her knees in the wet and dirt of the 
street, and raising her hands and eyes towards hea- 
ven, remained in that posture for some minutes, una- 



334 

ble to give utterance to the gratitude that filled her 
heart. Such a sight was more expressive than all 
the powers of eloquence ; he raised her tenderly from 
the ground, and soothing her with words of comfort, 
offered to conduct her to some place where she might 
get that refreshment of which she appeared to be in too 
great want. " Oh ! sir," said she, pressing the hand 
that had raised her, with cold trembhng lips, " my 
deliverer, sent from heaven to save me from despair ; 
let me not think of taking refreshment myself, till I 
have procured it for those whose greater wants I feel 
ten thousand times more severely than my own." 
" Who can they be," interrupted he with anxious im- 
patience, " can humanity feel greater w^ants than 
those under which you are sinking ?" " My father," 
exclaimed she, bursting into tears, " languishing un- 
der infirmities acquired in the service of his country ; 
my mother, worn out with attending on him, and 
both perishing for want ; (heaven grant they are not 
already dead !) together with two infant brothers, in- 
sensible of the cause of their distress, and crying to 
them for a morsel of bread, which is not in their 
power to give." " Where can such a scene of wretch- 
edness be hid from relief ? I will go with you myself 
directly. But stop ! let us first procure some com- 
fortable nourishment from some of those houses which 
are kept open at this late hour, for a very different 
purpose ; come with me, we have no time to lose." 
With these words he went directly to a tavern, and 
inquiring what victuals were dressed in the house, 
loaded her with as much as she could carry, of 



335 

the best, and putting a couple of bottles of wine in 
his own pockets, walked with her to her habitation, 
which was situated in a blind alley, happily for her, 
not very far distant ; as weakness, together with the 
conflict of passions struggling in her heart, made her 
scarce able to stir. When they came to the door, she 
would have gone up first for a light, but he was re- 
solved to accompany her, that he might see the whole 
scene in its genuine colours ; he therefore followed 
her up to the top of the house, where, opening the 
door of a garret, she discovered to him such a sight of 
misery as struck him with astonishment. By the 
light of a lamp that glimmered in the fireless chim- 
ney, he saw, lying on a bare bedstead, without any 
other covering than the relics of their own rags, a 
man, a woman, and two children, shuddering with 
cold, huddled together to share the little warmth 
w^hich exhausted nature still supplied them with. 
While he stood gazing with horror at such compli- 
cated wretchedness, his conductress ran to the bed 
side, and falling on her knees, "Oh! sir, madam," 
exclaimed she, in rapture, " arise, I have got relief 
from an angel of heaven!" "Take care," answered 
a voice, the hollow trembling of which was sharpened 
with indignation, " take care it is not a fiend from hell, 
who has taken advantage of your distress to tempt you 
to ruin ; for with whom else could you have been at 
this time of night ? but know, wretched giri ! that I 
will never eat the earnings of vice and infamy ; a 
few hours will put an end to my miseries, which have 
received the only possible addition by this your folly !'' 



3SG 

*^ He must be such indeed," interrupted the humane 
Churchill, still more struck with sentiments so un- 
common in such a situation, "who could think of 
tempting her, in such circumstances, to any folly. I 
will withdraw while you arise, and then we will con- 
sult what can be soonest done to alleviate a distress 
of which you appear so undeserving." While he 
said this, he took the wine out of his pockets, and 
giving it to the daughter, went directly down stairs, 
without waiting for a reply, and walking backwards 
and forwards in the street for some time, enjoyed the 
sublimest pleasure the human heart is capable of, in 
considering how he had relieved, and should further 
relieve, the sufferings of objects so worthy of relief. 

By the time he thought they might have heard the 
circumstances from their daughter, of her meeting 
with him, and had taken some nourishment, he return- 
ed to them ; when, the moment he entered the room, 
the whole family fell upon their knees to thank him. 
Such humiliation was more than he could bear ; he 
raised them one by one, as fast as he could, and tak- 
ing the fathers hand, " Gracious God !" said he, " can 
a sense of humanity be such an uncommon thing 
among creatures who call themselves human, that 
so poor an exertion of it should be thought deserving 
of a return proper to be made only to heaven ! Op- 
press me not, sir, I conjure you, with the mention of 
w^hat it would have been a crime, I could never have 
forgiven myself, to have known I had not done. It is 
too late to think of leaving this place before to-mor- 
row, when I will provide a better, if there is not any 



337 

to which you choose particularly to go. I am not 
rich, but thank heaven that it has blessed me with 
abihty and inclination to afford such assistance as may 
be immediately necessary to you, till means may be 
thought of for doing more." " Oh ! sir," exclaimed the 
mother, " well might my daughter call you an angel of 
heaven ; you know not from what misery you have al- 
ready relieved us." " Nor will I know more of it at this 
time :" interrupted he, "than that which I too plainly 
see. I will leave you now to your rest, and retura 
as soon as it is day." "Speak not of leaving us," an- 
swered the daughter, who was afraid that if he should 
go away he might not return ; " what rest can we 
take in so short a time ? leave us not, I beseech you ; 
leave us not in this place." 

" Cease, my child," intenupted the father, "nor pres^ 
your benefactor to continue in a scene of misery that 
must give pain to the humane heart." " If my staying 
will not give you pain," answered Churchill, " I will 
most willingly stay ; but it must be on condition that 
our conversation points entirely forward to happier 
days ; there will be time enough to look back hereaf- 
ter." Saying this, he sat down by the bed side, (for 
other seat the apartment afforded none,) between the 
husband and wife, Avith whom he spent the little re- 
mainder of the night in such discourse as he thought 
most likely to divert their attention from their present 
misery, and inspire their minds with better hopes ; 
while the children, all but the daughter, who hung 
upon his words, comforted at heart with a better meal 
than they had long tasted, fell fa^t asleep as they 

4S 



358 

leaned their heads upon then* mothers lap. As soon 
as it was day, " now madam/' said the benevolent 
Churchill, " I will go and provide abetter place for your 
reception, as you say all places are aUke to you ; in the 
mean time, accept this trifle, (giving her ten guineas,) 
to provide such necessaries as you may indispensably 
want before you remove ; when you are settled, we 
will see what farther can be done. I shall be back 
with you within these three hours at most." For such 
beneficence, there w^as no possibility of returning 
thanks ; but their hearts spoke through their eyes in 
a language sufficiently intelhgible to him. Departing 
directly, to save both himself and them the pain of 
pursuing a conversation that grew so distressful, he 
went, without regard to change of dress or appearance, 
to look for a proper lodging for them, where he laid in 
such provisions of every kind as he knew they must 
immediately want. This care employed him till the 
time he had promised to return ; when he found such 
an alteration in the looks and appearance of them all, 
as gave his heart dehght. "You see, sir," said the 
mother, as soon as he entered, " the effects of your 
bounty, but , do not think that vanity has made us 
abuse it : what we could raise on these clothes, 
has for some time been our sole support ; they were 
the purchase of happier times, and were now redeean- 
ed for much less than we must have given for the 
ivorst we could buy." " Dear madam," interrupted our 
poet, taking her hand respectfully, " mention not any 
thing of the kind to me, I beseech you ; you will soon 
Tice such times again ;" then turning to the husband,. 



339 

*^ I have taken a lodging, sir," continued he, *4t is con- 
venient, but not large, as I imagined would be your 
choice. I will call a coach to take us to it directly. 
If there are any demands here, let the people of the 
house be called up, and they shall be paid : I will 
be your purse bearer for the present." " No, sir," re- 
plied the husband, " there are not any : you have ena- 
bled us to discharge all demands upon us : people in 
our circumstances cannot find credit, because they 
ivant it." Their benefactor would then have gone for 
a coach, but the daughter insisted on saving him that 
trouble, and went for one herself ; upon which he put 
the whole family into it, and walked away before 
them to their new lodging. It is impossible to de- 
scribe what these poor people felt, when they saw the 
provision he had made for their reception ; the father, 
in particular, could not bear it, but sinking into a 
chair, "this is too much!" said he, as soon as a flood 
of tears had given vent to the fulness of his heart— 
" this is too much ! — support me gracious heaven !— 
who has sent this best of men to my relief; support 
me under the weight of obligations, w^hich the pre- 
servation of these alone (looking round upon his wife 
and children) could induce me to accept." Then 
addressing himself to his preserver, " my heart is not 
unthankful," continued he, "but gratitude in such ex- 
cess as mine, where there is no prospect of ever 
making a return, is the severest pain." Churchill, who 
sought none, attempted often to give the conversation 
another turn ; but finding they could speak or think of 
nothing else as yet, he took his leave, promising to 



340 

come the next day, when their minds should be bet- 
ter settled, to consult what was more in his power to 
serve them ; having first privately taken an opportu- 
nity to slip a couple of guineas into the daughter's 
hand, to avoid putting the delicacy of her father and 
mother to farther pain. 



S2E 



THE GAMESTER. 

" And what brought thee hither ?" said the dissipated 
Henr}^, to the pensive Maria, as he approached the 
door of her cell : " unveil thy face ; if it be as lovely 
as thy form is elegant, hard must be the heart that 
wounded thine." Approaching to unveil her, a re- 
spectable matron interfered, saying, " this, sir, must 
not be ; I am well rewarded for my care of this young 
lady — brought here by a gentleman, who calling him- 
self her father, warned me to be tender to his child. 
I present her to you," she continued, " veiled ; it is 
her desire and mine that her face should never more 
be seen ; her real name must not be known — call her, 
therefore, Maria. Many fine ladies and gentlemen, 
sir, visit these mournful confines ; and it is not by her 
permission only, but request, that the door of her cell 
is sometimes left open, that she may hold melancho- 
ly converse with those on whom she pleases to be- 
stow her attention. You, sir, seem to attract her re- 
gard — speak to her, for she is not offended." Henry 
felt his heart softened— he asked pardon of the be- 



341 

\Vilclered innocent, who told him it was granted ; at 
the same time, she turned to a table, and opening a 
small casket, took from thence a lock of hair, and 
pressing it to her gay, but heart touched visitor — 
" take," said she, " this ringlet, intended for one bj 
whom I once thought myself beloved, and remember 
it was given thee by the pensive Maria, who, deserted 
by reason, and abandoned by him she loved, gave up 
her harrassed imagination to the keeping of melan- 
choly and hopeless sorrow. Alas, sir ! wide are the 
realms of misery, and many are her children who 
roam therein. You have little reason to wish to see 
my face, where the winter of neglect has destroyed 
the rose of health, and the frost of unkindness has 
shortened my existence — but to the grave I look for- 
ward as a refuge from the storm I have endured." 
Henry felt himself affected, and replied, " why this 
romantic flight ! descend to common life and com- 
mon terms, that we may converse with greater ease." 
" Common life and common terms !" cried the hap- 
less girl, "how you mistake my fate ! uncommon has 
been my life, and hard has been the terms on which 
I have seen the light ; few in number have been my 
years, yet the stings of affliction have rendered mj 
existence gloomy and forlorn." Henry wept — " tel3 
me, unhappy maiden, if it is in the power of him who 
has once claimed your regard, by sorrow and contri- 
tion, by love and affection, to restore you to life and 
to yourself; or has his unkindness utterly undone th} 
peace forever r" Here Maria uttered a deep sigh, and 
eT^ci aimed, " J fear my doom is fixed ! but why, sir. 



342 

these questions ? by thus commiserating the fate of 
the hapless Maria, you will only add to the trouble of 
her mind ; and would you wish still more to afflict 
the unfortunate ?" "No," returned Henry, deeply sigh- 
ing ; " I am, notwithstanding appearances, myself un- 
fortunate, and my mind, like thine, is distressed." " In- 
deed!" said the gentle Maria, "then sit down by me, 
and tell me all your sorrows, without reserve. What 
you relate shall go no farther, and as I wish to learn 
your story, will you deny her, who, when you are 
gone, will pray that your peace may be restored ?" 
" Dear young lady," cried the afflicted Henry, "if my 
short story can any way serve to divert your sorrows, 
and break their force by participation, gladly would 
I visit the amiable Maria, with her to utter the mu- 
tual sigh, abstracted from the gay world, where all 
my hopes have been wrecked :— -but, gentle maiden, 
indiscretion and folly have completed my ruin, and 
the tumults of my mind are not, like thine, allayed by 
the consciousness of innocence. Bred in the gay 
scbool of fashion and levity, I was early initiated in 
all the follies that stain the characters of many, who, 
boasting the advantages of birth and fortune, pursue 
a conduct that at once stains the one, and renders 
the other a curse instead of a blessing. Oh, Maria ! 
I once loved and was again beloved :-— Emilia pos- 
sessed a mind rich in every charm. I was on the 
point of calling the lovely Emilia mine ; when, by in 
dulging a fatal propensity for play, I was, the evening 
before our intended marriage, rash enough to hazard 
my estate at on the turn of a fatal die ! I lost 



343 

it, and in one moment saw myself stripped of wealth 
and affluence, and reduced to the condition of a pri- 
vate gentleman ; I had, at the time I was rash enough 
to lose my all in the manner I have related, an uncle 
nearly at the point of death, and as a discovery of my 
rashness might utterly have undone me with him, 
I obtained a promise from the winner of my fortune 
to keep the matter a secret ; he has not betrayed m.e ; 
my uncle is since dead — I am again recalled to for- 
tune and affluence, but my peace is gone forever ; for 
on the instant I could again appear to claim my loved 
Emilia, I hastened to her father to own my crime, and 
petition forgiveness ; — but, alas ! I knew not the heart 
I had wounded. I found the wTetched father, in the 
course of a few short months, sunk to a mere shadow 
of his former self — he forgave me indeed : — but told 
me that his child had, at her own request, immured 
herself from the world. But oh ! Maria, this much in- 
jured gentleman would not inform me where I might 
once more see her whose remembrance will forever 
live in a heart that will never own another. ^ It may,' 
he said, 'be considered as false pride in me, but I could 
no more bear the disgrace of that never to be forgot- 
ten day of your mysterious and cruel absence, than 
my poor child could support the shame of neglected 
and affronted love. This child, Henry, is now a volun- 
tary recluse, nor will any but her father behold her 
face again'." As soon as Henry had finished his af- 
fecting relation, Maria took him by the hand, and 
leading him to the glass — " this mirror," said she, " has 
the power of restoring to thy faithful heart the per- 



344 

lect resemblance of the object beloved/' " Whal» 
ever may be your meaning, my amiable Maria, or if 
what you have uttered be only the effusion of your 
elegant fancy, I appeal to heaven for the truth of all 
you have heard me ufter." On this assertion, the 
amiable and hitherto afflicted girl withdrew her veil, 
and discovered to the enraptured Henry, not only the 
image, but turning round, he clasped the real, the re- 
stored Emilia. Mrs. immediately sent a mes- 
sage to her honoured parent ; mutual vows of love 
and forgiveness were exchanged in his presence. 
Mr. was again cheered with health and happi- 
ness, and lived many years blessed in his children. 
Go ye, who sport your thousands, and take example 
from Henry. 



THE INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. 

The most lofty and the strongest edifices decay ! 
If they escape storms, tempests, and earthquakes, 
yet they must yield to time, and their glories must 
be buried in the dust. Pyramids are justly reckoned 
the greatest instances of the folly and vanity of man- 
kind. The use for which those famous ones of Egypt 
were erected was only for their kings to be interred 
in. Take a view of the ruins of antiquity, and re- 
member, O man! the frail state of thy mortality! 
Art thou rich and great, is thy name known through- 
out the world, and do thy lofty buildings aspire to the 
clouds ? Yet a little while, and thou shalt sink to 



346 

dust. Thy edifices and thy monuments too must 
at length decay, and leave no traces behind them. 
Where now is Babylon ? Where is the seat of Solo- 
mon ? Where is wise Athens ? And where ancient 
Rome, the mistress of the w^orld ? Where are those 
mighty cities once so famous upon the earth ? — Of 
some there is not left a stone upon a stone, and others 
are remembered only in their ruins : 

E'en as an unsubstantial pageant faded, 
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a wreck behind. 

Be assured then, O man, w^ho gloriest in thy strength 
and might, that there is nothing solid but peace of , 
mind — nothing permanent but virtue : she alone shall 
last through ages, and grow brighter through the end- 
less succession of eternity. 



A REMARKABLE COURTSHIP. 

At Depliiz, in Bohemia, a place not much unlike 
Tunbridge, where people of all sorts resort to drink the 
water, lived an old rich bachelor, of eighty-eight, and 
no more ; who, besides his having arrived to this age, 
which the world calls maturity, was visited by almost 
every disorder that afflicts the human body — dropsy, 
gout, gravel, stone, palsy, shortness of breath, coughs 

44 



346 

tittle less than half blind, more than half deaf, with 
many other of the like friendly attendants. This curi- 
ous, this singular figure, had his heart violently wound- 
ed by the charms of a beauty of sixteen, of a small 
fortune, and great virtues^ whom he saw, or thought he 
saw, as he hobbled along the walks. His mind, from 
that instant, was so greatly disturbed, and his pain on 
this account so insupportable, as to take place of 
all his other sufferings. To alleviate his sorrows, he 
resolved to be conducted into the presence of the 
young innocent, and boldly tell her to her face the 
wonders she had done. At length he arrived within 
view of the lovely fair, whom he found seated at the 
^ tea table with her brother : With his eyes half closed, 
part from age, and part from having so long beheld 
the follies of men — after a slow, but respectful motion, 
with his head declined, his body curved, his arms 
supported, his legs tottering, and the whole man dis- 
turbed, being seated, andevery way kept from fallingto 
the earth, he gently opened his mouth, and raising his 
eyes towards the beauty with all the circumstances of 
human modesty, thus did he tell his grief : " Miss, 
mercy on me ; miss, thou art vastly handsome !'^ 
" Sir," said the pretty child, interrupting the good 
old man, "will you please to drink some tea!" — 
''- No," says this much to be pitied lover, " but with 
your leave Pll smoke a pipe." A pipe was brought, 
a pipe was filled, and the lighted candle ready ; and 
being himself willing to set fire to the matter therein 
contained, received it in his right hand ; but, alas ! on 
endeavouring to raise that hand, and direct it towards 



347 

the pipe then in his left, from some sudden cause it 
stopped on the way, trembhng and shaking with the 
rest of his amiable frame — his hand with the lighted 
candle thus suspended on the road between his 
knees and his chin ; in this strange position, he raised 
his drooping head, and directing once more his eyes 
towards his beloved ladj, seemingly lost in thought ; 
he suddenly freed his left hand from the pipe, and di- 
recting it towards his watch pocket, held forth that in- 
strument of time, and placed it on the table ; this 
done, he directed the same hand towards his right, 
and gently taking a ring from his little finger, slowly 
carried it towards the watch on the table, and left 
them together, at a small distance one from the other ; 
he then put his pipe in his mouth and smoked away. 
The lady, filled with amazement at these things, turn- 
€d her dear, pretty, tender, lovely eyes, towards her 
brother, and discovered how much she wished to 
know from him what was meant by these doings, — 
At lengthy for a second time, the wounded lover open* 
ed his mouth with intention to continue his tragic 
tale, and thus he addressed the beauteous innocent : 
'^ Miss, thou art all sweetness — all softness — the most 
loveliest, fairest, tenderest — Mercy on me! — I gaze 
cipon thee w ith raptures ; with astonishment do 1 ^x 
my eyes upon thee — for never did I behold so excel- 
lent a fair ! All perfection do I see in thee, thou 
ravishing, thou bewitching treasure, thou charmer of 
my heart." " Enough ! enough !" cried the pretty 
<:reature ^ " pray, sir, speak to be understood — what 
means all this !"— " Means ! my Ultle angel ! — 



348 

means ; my endearing, tender, engaging, delight- 
ful, transporting, pretty creature ! I'll tell thee, my 
adorable, I'll tell thee ; — dost thou see that watch ! 
dost thou observe that ring !" — " Yes, sir," re- 
plied this angelic figure, " but I know not for 
what they are placed on my table." '' Patience, 
my turtle dove," says he, " patience, my loveliest 
darling. Oh, thou most perfect of thy sex ! Oh 
mercy! I never made love; I am a stranger to the- 
ways that lovers take to inspire their beloved with 
pity for their sufferings ; a pain like this I never felt 
before. Hear me, my soul's best wish, hear me — if 
in Gfteen minutes— oh give me your attention — take 
some compassion on me, and turn your thoughts my 
w ay ; if in that short time thou takest up that ring — 
oh ! amazing excellence ! Dost thou understand me 
now ? I am not poor ; I can make thee great ; I can give 
thee a thousand and a thousand pretty things to make 
thee shine, if possible, brighter than thou art. I say 
again, dost thou understand me now ? The watch 
will tell us the time, and time will wait for no man : 
in fifteen minutes my pipe will be out. Mercy on 
me, I say again, thou art v^^onderous handsome." 
Thus said, with a face filled with grief, he gently 
raised his head, and conducting with both his hands 
his pipe to his mouth, went on with smoking, and 
discovered every circumstance of a languishing and 
despairing lover, turning every second minute his hea- 
vy and sorrowful eyes on the watch, then on the lady, 
often reminding her in the most soft and tender terms, 
that time advanced, and that his pipe would presently 



349 

be out; tliat as soon as tlie time elapsed, he would 
beg pardon and take himself away, and labour in her 
absence to forget his woes ; ever concluding all his 
tender sayings by crying, "mercy on me! thou art 
the most ens:a2:in2: sweetness that ever saw the li<rht." 
The fifteen minutes drawing to an end, the young, 
the pretty infant, recovering by degrees her surprise 
at this extraordinary conduct of her lover, turned 
again and again her eyes towards her brother, to learn 
his approbation. The last minute being pretty near, 
she carried her lovely hand towards the ring, and 
looked with amazement, alternately, on her brother 
and her lover. No sooner had this little part of her 
tender form covered the ring, but with a sort of ec- 
stacy she raised it from the table. The ravished lover, 
transported at the sight, let fall his pipe, slowly de- 
clined his body, and kissed (with the eagerness of a 
youthful admirer) her amiable hand. The business 
w^as immediately brought on the carpet : the next 
mornins: matters were a2;reed on in all the external 
forms ; and the young lady wanted nothing to com- 
plete her happiness — but the death of her husband. 



HORATIO AND EMMA. 



"Horatio," says a ri^id parent, "you are too young, 
you have not a fortune — why therefore would you 
wish to cherish a feeling for my daughter ? It would 
be most prudent for you to dismiss your affection, 



330 

and learn to rise superior to so puerile a thought. If 
I should encourage that affection by admitting you 
to visit my child, it might prevent her from being 
more highly situated in life ; therefore you will act 
more honourably, by banishing the idea, and reso- 
lutely determining to think no more of her.'' What 
feelings must a lady experience at these suggestions, 
if she loves the youth, is acquainted with his real 
worth, and admires him for his goodness and his 
virtue ; her esteem is heightened by the dull pros- 
pects that surround him ! Her tender heart may 
beat to the tear of sorrow, as his happiness is what 
she wishes to promote. She hears the cold dictates of 
a rigid parent, but W'ould prefer the shades of adver- 
sity, with a dinner of herbs, rather than be deprived of 
one she esteems. Horatio thinks of his prospects with 
coolness. " True," says he, " I have not a fortune ; my 
father is of a decayed family, and though a gentle- 
man, yet poor, and therefore unable to assist me. My 
heart is the seat of misery, because her stoical pa- 
rents wish to prevent a connexion, unless I have a 
fortune — this J have not. Industry, accompanied 
with honesty, may secure it to me. I will fly to Em- 
ma, and lodge my sorrows in her bosom, w^hich has 
felt a wo on the same account." Emma, when I re- 
lated to her my distress, gave me relief, and assured 
me that interested motives weighed not with her. 
She was happy in my affection, and she wanted no 
more. " Heaven," she said, "would in time reward my 
iriCY''-t w th fortune — if it did not, she would live with 
me in poverty : I am your friend ; what €an you de- 



351 

sire more ; the flame which animates our bosoms is 
pure and virtuous — can it be rendered more de- 
lightful !" Such language as this, one would think, 
would dissijDate sorrow from my heart — but Emma's 
parents were so averse to the connexion that her 
tender language could not relieve my anxious mind* 
At this time, a gentleman, Musidorus by name, ad- 
dressedEmma; fortune had tossed her gayest plumes 
into his hand ; — this latter excellence was the highest 
recommendation Musidorus could proffer to win the 
attention of Emma's parents — he was considered as 
every thing. To complete his misery, Horatio hears 
that his Emma was married ; that she was compelled 
by her parents to give her hand to Musidorus — Hora- 
tio's fondness for Emma, and the return which it had 
received, were not unknown to Musidorus, but his feel- 
ings were not lively, nor his delicacy extreme — Musi- 
dorus confided in this maxim, which Emma's father 
had taught him, that a woman's affection may be 
gained after marriage by any husband who will be 
kind and attentive. Horatio was informed that his 
amiable friend was led trembling, like a lamb, to the 
altar, and that while the sacrifice was performing, her 
cheeks faded, till at length she fell lifeless to the 
ground. Many months passed away ; Horatio was 
sorrowful ; his father saw his distress, and pitied 
him. He proposed a journey to his son; his son ac- 
quiesced, and took a different rout from what his fa- 
ther imagined he would. He rode night and day, 
and soon completed his intentions. He sees the house 
of Emma's father — The east wind blew when he 



352 

alighted at the gate — A spaniel, Emma's favourite, 
met Horatio at the door ; the poor creature's limbs 
trembled as he leaped upon him. Horatio enters the 
house, and the first person he saw was Alberto, a 
brother of Emma's, sitting before the fire, with a mi- 
niature picture of his sister in his hand — his eyes were 
fixed upon it— tears flowed down his cheeks — Hora- 
tio felt their cause immediately — " Is Emma dead," 
says he — iVlberto, who knew not that he was in 
the room till he heard his voice, started up, and press- 
ing Horatio's right hand in both of his, " yes," said 
Alberto, " she is relieved from all her miseries. The 
marriage of Emma gave a wound to her heart which 
could never be healed — she considered herself as a 
criminal in bestowing her person without her heart — 
she pined — her husband endeavoured to console her 
mind, and restore her to health — his assiduities served 
only to embitter her anguish — she resigned herself to 
her grief — in her last moments she called Alberto to 
her bed side — see my brother, said she, the victim of 
rigid prudence — my beloved Horatio will, I trust, be 
satisfied with this proof of affection — tell him, that 
however my person has been disposed of, my soul 
has not ceased a moment to be his." 

Horatio's health began to decline ; he had jus) 
strength sufficient to carry him to the grave of Emma, 
where he spent whole days in weeping over the sods 
which covered her remains — he wished not to live — 
and suffered his Hfe to waste away. Rigid parents, be 
pleased to read this affecting story ; if you value ti^e 
health, peace, and felicity of your children, do not 



OOO 



bias them too much — ^if the man be virtuous — if he 
adds industry to this rich jewel, be ye contented with 
the connection. Your children will then meet you 
with their smiles — they will love and respect you ; but 
if you will compel them to give their hands to those 
their hearts cannot approve of, you make them wretch- 
ed — you gradually destroy them. 



ANECDOTE OF MONTESQUIEU. 

A YOUNG man, whose name was Roberts, was 
waiting at Marseilles, till some passenger should 
enter his boat, that he might ferry him over. A per- 
son presently came, but as Roberts had not the air of 
a boatman, was going again, saying, " since the boat- 
man was not there, he would find another." " I am 
the boatman," said Roberts, '* where do you wish to 
go ?" " I would be rowed round the harbour," said the 
passenger, " to enjoy the fresh air of this fine evening ; 
but you have neither the manners nor the air of a 
mariner." " I am not a mariner," replied Roberts, 
" and only employ my time this way on Sundays and 
holydays, to get money." " What, are you avaricious 
at your age ?" " Ah, sir," said Roberts, " if you knew 
my reason for thus employing myself, you would not 
suspect me of so mean a vice." " Well, row me 
where I have desired, and be so good as to tell your 
reasons." " I have only one, but that is a dreadful 
one : My father is in slavery." " In slavery ^" '^ Yes. 

45 



354 

sir ; he was a broker in Marseilles, and with the money 
which he and my mother, who is a milliner, had in 
many years been able to sa^^e, he purchased a part in a 
vessel that traded to Smyrna ; his desire to enrich and 
make his children and his family happy, was so strong, 
that he would go in the ship himself, to dispose of his 
property to the best advantage : they were met and at- 
tacked by a corsair, and my father, among the rest, was 
carried a slave to Tetuan ; his ransom is a thousand 
crowns, but as he had exhausted almost his whole 
wealth in that unfortunate adventure, we are very far 
from possessing such a sum^ My mother and my 
sisters work day and night, and I do the same : I am 
an apprentice to a jeweller, and I endeavour, as you 
see, to profit likewise by the Sundays and holydays,. 
when my master's shop is shut. I intended to have 
gone and freed my father, by exchanging myself for 
him, and was just about putting my project into exe- 
cution, when my mother coming to the knowledge of 
it, assured me it was impracticable and dangerous, 
and forbad all the Levant captains to take me on 
board." " And do you ever receive neivs of your fa- 
ther ; do you know who is his master at Tetuan, and 
what treatment he meets with ?" " His master is in- 
tendant of the king's gardens ; he is treated with hu- 
manity, and his labour is not beyond his strength, as he 
writes : But, alas! where are the comforts he used to 
find in the society of his dear wife and three beloved 
children?" "What name does he goby at Tetuan?" 
"His name is Roberts ; he has never changed his name, 
'for he has no reason to be ashamed of it." " Roberts ; 
and his master is intendant of the king's garden ?" "Yes, 



355 

sir.^' " I am affected by your misfortune, and I find your 
sentiments so noble and so virtuous, that I think I dare 
predict a happier fate to you hereafter, and I assure 
you, I wish you ali the happiness you desire * at pre- 
sent, I am a little tlioughtful, and I hope you will not 
think me proud because I am inclined to be silent ; I 
w ould not be, nor be thought proud, to such men as 
you." Wh€n it was dark the passenger desired to 
be rowed to the stiore, and as he stepped out of the* 
boat, he threw a purse into it, and ran off with precipi- 
tation. The purse contained eight double louisxl'ors, 
and ten crowns in silver. This generosity made the 
most lively impression upon Roberts, and it was with 
grief he beheld him run from him so swiftly, without 
laying to receive his thanks. Encouraged by this as- 
sistance, the virtuous family of Roberts redoubled 
their efforts to relieve their common parent, and al- 
most denied themselves a sufficiency of the most or- 
dinary food. Six weeks after, as the mother and the two 
daughters were sitting at dinner over a few chesnuts^ 
bread, and water, they saw Roberts, the father, enter. 
Imagine their joy, their transports, their astonishment. 
The good old man threw himself in their arms, and 
thanked and kissed them ten thousand times for the fifty 
guineas which he had received after the purchase of 
his freedom, for the payment of his passage in the 
vessel, for the clothes they had sent him, and for all 
the exactness and care they had taken in every thing 
that related to his release and safe return ; he knew 
aot how to repay so much zeal, so much love. 

The mother and the daughters listened, and looked 



356 

with immoveable surprise at each other ; at last the mo- 
ther broke silence ; her son had done it all, she said, 
though she knew not bj what means ; and related 
how, from the first moment of his slavery, that young 
Roberts would, had she not prevented him, have gone 
and taken his father's place ; how the family had actu- 
ally in the house above five hundred crowns towards 
his ransom, which had most of it been earned by the 
labours of young Roberts, &c. The father, on hear- 
ing this account, was instantly seized with a most 
painful suspicion that his son had taken some dis- 
lionest method to release him ; he could no way else 
account for it — he sent for his son. " Unhappy young 
man," said he, " what hast thou done — would you 
have me owe my deliverance to crimes and disho- 
nour ? thou wouldst not have kept thy proceedings se- 
cret from thy mother, had they been upright ; I trem- 
ble to think that so virtuous an affection as parental 
love should render thee guilty." "Be calm, my fa- 
ther," answered the young man, " your son, I hopo^ 
is not unworthy of you — -nor is he happy enough to 
have procured your deliverance, and to prove how 
dear to him his father is. No, it is not me ; it is, it 
must be our generous benefactor whom I met in my 
boat — he, my mother, who gave us his purse : I'll 
search through the world but I'll find him ; he shall 
come and see the happiness he is the author of." He 
then told his father the anecdote before related. The 
elder Roberts having so good a foundation to begin 
again, soon became rich enough to be at ease, and 
settle his children to his satisfaction, while the younger 



357 

made every possible eflbrt to discover their benefac- 
tor. After two years of fruitless search, he at lastv 
met him walking alone on the beach of Marseilles. 
He flew to throw himself at his feet, but his sensa- 
tions were so strong he fainted. The stranger gave 
him every assistance, and a crowd of people presently 
gathered round them. As soon as Roberts came to 
himself, he began to thank him, to call him the saviour 
of his family, and to beg of him to come and see the 
happiness he was the author of, and receive the bless- 
ings of those whom he had so greatly blessed. The 
stranger, however, pretended not to understand him, 
and the multitude becoming great, by their conten- 
tion, he found an opportunity of mixing with them, 
and escaping from the importunities of Roberts. He 
was never seen or heard of afterwards by his grateful 
debtors ; and though the story was extraordinary, and 
soon made its way through France, yet it was never 
known, till after his death, (by his papers,) that the 
famous and immortal Montesquieu was the person. 
The note for 7,500 livres was found, and Mr. Mayn, 
banker of Cadiz, said he had received it of Montes- 
quieu, for the release of a slave at Tetuan, of the 
name of Roberts ; and it was known that Montesquieu 
used to visit his sister, madame D'Hericourt, who 
was married, and lived at Marseilles, 



358 

THE MUTTON CHOP. 

"' From trilling ills what mischief may arise.'* 

Happening the other day to call on a friend of mine^ 
tv'ho just at that instant was gone to market to buy 
something for dinner, I waiteduntil he returned, which 
he did very soon, with some mutton chops in his hand. 
From what followed, I found that mutton chops were 
not the wife's favourite — a trifling dispute arose about 
the legality of his buying mutton chops — he insisted 
upon his right to do as he pleased in that respect; she 
as positively insisted on the contrary. However, dur- 
ing the dispute of each other's right, (the mutton chop 
being put upon a plate,) a little child happened to 
be fingering them ; by accident, down they drop on 
the sandy floor ; a favourite cat (as I found) being 
very attentive to the provision, immediately ran down 
stairs with it ; my friend in great haste followed the cat, 
and in running down made an unlucky slip of seven or 
eight steps, broke his shins, and frightened the cat out 
of the door ; just at that instant a large dog passing 
by, seized the cat and th€ mutton chops ; by this time 
my friend had recovered himself, and immediately 
set out after the dog to recover poor tabby : for, alas ! 
the mutton chops were no more. The dog happen- 
ing to have more speed than my friend, gained ground 
apace. At last my friend had recourse to a stone, 
and with a furious throw missed the dog, and it w-ent 
through the window of a public house ; the landlord 
immediately came out, seized my friend by the col- 



359 

lar, and insisted on restitution, which my friend com- 
plied with. He then returned home, sans mutton 
chops, sa7is poor tabby, fourteen pence for the win- 
dow, and a broken shin ; dear marketing I thought ; 
however, my friend and his wife resumed their usual 
good humour ; she applied vinegar to the wound — 
we all sat down to partake of what we could find in 
the house — had a hearty laugh, and were happy that 
nothing worse attended this odd circumstance. 



A COUNTRY NIGHT^S REFLECTIONS. 

What a delightful night ! the moon, full orbed, ap- 
pears in majestic splendour on the front of yon high 
eastern hill ; the lengthening shadows move along the 
plain below ; the whole creation sleeps ; pain and 
anguish only w^ake : the laborious husbandman for- 
gets the toils of the day in peaceful slumbers ; and 
nature makes a pause — an awful pause, prophetic of 
her end. Here let the musing mind awhile indulge 
reflection ; — reflection, awful and instructive as this 
midnight hour ; — the clock strikes twelve — oh time, 
memento of eternity ! how^ are thy hours squandered 
away in trifles and intemperance ! yet, who shall re- 
deem thy loss, or give back yesterdays to come? 
The once hospitable mansion rises before my view, 
but now, alas ! forlorn, untenanted, the owner flies to 
courts and cities, unmindful of the village swains : 
intemperate feasts and poisonous luxury succeed to 



3G0 

liannless inirtli and hospitable cheer; but let the 
voice of reason and reflection thus address thee : re-* 
turn thou to the hospitable seat of thy forefathers, letthj 
flock clothe the naked, and let thy table feed the 
hungry ; be thy instructions the guide of the ignorant, 
and thy example the reproof to the froward ; so shall 
benevolence increase thy store, and thou shalt look 
forward to the end of life as the consummation of thy 
felicity. The miser now counts his ill-gotten store ; 
even the whistling wind alarms him, which his fears 
misconstrue as the midnight thief, while he worships 
in secret the god of his idolatry : as he accumulated 
wealth, he discovered his own importance by in- 
crease ; but, as he prized it more, he used it less ; 
and, as the hand of time scattered snow upon his 
head, the freezin^: influence extended to his bosom ; 
he surveys the shming ore with a look of circumspec- 
tive caution ; — thou fool, this night shall thy soul be 
required of thee, and then, whose shall all these things 
be? the ambitious waking now plan schemes of future 
glory, unmindful of this transitory state, and the un- 
certainty of human power ; while others, perhaps, 
lament the time mispent in such pursuits, and are 
ready to exclaim, "Where now, ye lying vanities of 
life, ye ever tempting, ever cheating train, where are 
you now, and what is your amount ?" the sons of po- 
verty, dosing awhile, forget their cravings and their 
daily cares, while luxury, in palaces, lies stretching its 
vain thoughts to form imaginary wants. The plain- 
tive voice of morning breaks through the stillness of 
Right on my attentive listening ear: — the unhappy 



361 

fair one breathes the accents of her wo ; like another 
Philomel, she complains of the perjm-ed youth : the 
villain sleeps unconscious of remorse, unmindful of 
her anguish ; but he shall one day awake to a sense 
of guilt like his, and shall acknowledge, that no life 
can be pleasing to God but what is harmless and in- 
offensive to human kind. Thou who sittest enthroned 
in power, relieve the wants, and heal the calamities 
of all those, who, from the remotest parts of the earth, 
waking in the bitterness of their spirit, address thy 
throne ; sleeping and waking, defend them still ; let 
thy day spring from on high break in upon and sus- 
tain them. The sprightly lark's shrill matin wakes 
the morn — here pause my thoughts awhile. 



MENDOZA AND CORNELIA. 

The plains in which Lima, the capital of Peru, is 
placed, are the most beautiful in the world — They 
are of vast extent, reaching from the foot of the Andes 
or Cordillera mountains to the sea, and are covered 
with groves of olive trees, of oranges and citrons, 
watered by many streams, one of the principal among 
which, washing the walls of Lima, falls into the ocean 
at Callao, in which latter place is laid the scene of 
the ensuing history. 

To this city Don Juan de Mendoza, yet an infant, 
had come over wdth his father from Old Spain. The 
father having borne many noble employments in Peru, 

46 



362 

died much esteemed and honoured, rather than rich. 
This young gentleman had in early youth conceived 
a very strong passion for Donna Cornelia di Perez, 
daughter of a wealthy merchant, who dwelt in the 
city of Callao, at that time the best port in the whole 
western world. 

But although the young lady, who was reputed the 
most accomplished person in the Indies, returned his 
affection, yet he met with an insuperable difficulty in 
the avarice and inflexible temper of the father, who, pre- 
fering wealth to every other consideration, absolutely 
refused his consent. At length the unfortunate lover 
saw himself under the necessity of returning to his 
native country, the most miserable of all mankind, 
torn away forever from all he held most dear. 

He was now on board, in the port of Callao, a ship 
ready to sail for Spain, the wind fair, the crew all em- 
ployed, and the passengers rejoicing in the expecta- 
tion of seeing again the place of their nativity. Amid 
the shouts and acclamations with which the whole 
bay resounded, Mendoza sat upon the deck alone, 
overwhelmed with sorrow, beholding those towers 
in which he had left the only person who could have 
made him happy, whom he was never more to be- 
hold ; a thousand tender and melancholy thoughts 
possessed his mind. 

In the mean time, the serenity of the sky is disturb- 
ed ; sudden flashes of lightning dart across, which in- 
creasing, fill the whole air with flame. A noise is 
heard from the bowels of the earth, at first low rumb- 
ling, but growing louder, and soon exceeding the 



363 

roaring of the most violent thunder; this was in- 
stantly followed by a trenibhng of the earth ; the first 
shocks w^ere of short continuance, but in a few 
moments they became quicker and of longer duration. 
The sea seemed to be thrown up in the sky, the arch 
of heaven to bend downwards. The Cordilleras, the 
highest mountains of the earth, shook and roared with 
unutterable noises, sending forth from their bursting 
sides rivers of flame, and throwing up immense rocks. 
The houses, arsenals, and churches of Callao tottered 
from side to side, and at last tumbled upon the heads of 
(he inhabitants. 

Those who had not perished in this manner, you 
might see of every age and sex, rushing into the 
streets and public roads to escape from the like mins. 
But even there there was no safety ; the whole earth 
was in motion, nor was the ocean less disturbed ; the 
ships in the harbour were some of them torn from 
their anchors, some of them swallowed up in the 
waves, some dashed on the rocks, and many thrown 
several miles up on the land. The whole town of 
Callao, late so flourishing, filled with half the wealth 
of the Indies, disappeared, being partly engulphed, 
partly carried away in explosion by minerals bursting 
from the entrails of the earth. Vast quantities of rich 
spoils of furniture and precious goods were afterwards 
taken up, floating some leagues off at sea. In the 
midst of this astonishing confusion, Mendoza was per- 
haps the sole human creature unconcerned for him- 
self. He beheld the whole tremendous scene from 
the ship's deck, frightened only for the destruction 



364- 

falling on his beloved Cornelia. He saAV and moun> 
ed her fate, as unavoidable, litde rejoicing at his own 
safety, since life was now become a burthen. 

After the space of an hour this terrible hurricane 
ended ; earth regained her stability, the sky its calm- 
ness. He then beholdeth close by the stern of the 
ship, floating upon an olive tree, to a bough of which 
she clung, one in the dress of a female. He was 
touched with compassion ; he ran to her relief; he 
findeth her yet breathing, and raising her up, how 
unspeakable was his astonishment when he beheld 
in his arms his beloved, his lamented Cornelia, the 
manner of whose miraculous deliverance is thus re- 
corded : 

In this universal wreck, as it were, of nature, in 
w^hich the elements of earth and water had changed 
their places, fishes were borne up in the mid land, 
trees, houses and men into the deep : It happened 
that this fair one was buried into the sea, together 
with the tree to which in the beginning of the com- 
motion she had clung, and was thrown up by the 
side of the vessel wherein Mendoza was, which 
was one of the few that rode out the amazing tem- 
pest. I cannot paint to you the emotions of his mind ; 
the joy, the amazement, the gratitude, the tender- 
ness — words cannot express them. Happy pair ! the 
interposition of providence in your favour was too 
visible to question your being at last united forever. 
Thrice happy Mendoza, how wonderfully was thy 
constancy crowned — thy merit rewarded. Lo, the 
wind is fair ! haste, bear with thee to thy native 



365 

Spain this inestimable prize. Return, no less justly 
triumphant, than did formerly the illustrious Cortez, 
loaded with the spoils of Montezuma, the treasures of 
a newlv discovered world. 



HUMOROUS LETTER, 

Upon certain indelicacies, very frequently practised. 

I dined a week ago at the house of an old friend, 
with whom ! made it a kind of point to pass a day 
once a twelve month : this gentleman, together with 
his whole family, piqued themselves not a little upon 
their knowledge in the minutest article of breeding, 
and are vmiversally esteemed a very polite set by the 
most critical circle of their acquaintance. When the 
salutations of the season were over, I was permitted 
to take a chair, which I did by my friend, at the cor- 
ner of the fire, and left the rest to the old lady and her 
daughters. For a full hour we sat in the sleepiness of 
silent stupidity. 

Silence was, however, at last broke by Mrs. M , 

who, taking out a pocket handkerchief, which in 
several places was almost glued together by a certain 
quantity of snuffy saliva, sagaciously took notice 
that the w^eather was very damp : at the same time 
that she made this remark, she pulled the handker- 
chief out of its plaits, and held it before the fire to 
dry, where, to do her justice, it smoked in such a 
manner as evidently to support the propriety of her 



366 

obseiTation. She had no sooner done this, than Mr. 

M , as if he understood it to be a signal, began 

an incessant coughing, and every other moment 
discharged large lumps of a tough phlegm, against the 
bars of the grate, which kept up a constant hissing, 
like so many sausages in a frying pan. A concert of 
this kind, I cannot say, v» as very much to my fancy, 
so that by the time the summons came for dinner, I 
had completely lost my stomach, and was infinitely 
more fit for a bed than a haunch of venison. 

During dinner time, however, matters were rather 

aggravated than redressed. Mr. M helped me 

with the same fork that had just before been em- 
ployed in picking his teeth, and his amiable lady 
more than once dropped some double scented Mac- 
cuba among my gravy, though that was a favour I 
by no means wished for or solicited. To increase my 
satisfaction, I happened to be a great favourite with 
two of the young ladies, and generally sit between 
them when I pay a visit at their father's; in order to 
show their attention to me, therefore, whenever I 
wanted any thing, rather than sulTer me to wait an 
instant, they kindly helped me from their own plates : 
and Miss Jenny, in particular, insisted, when the girl 
W'Cnt down stairs for bread, that I should take her 
slice, though it bore the signs of half a dozen teeth, 
no way remarkable either for their whiteness or re- 
gularity. 

Dinner being at length happily over, I flattered 
myself that I had gone through the principal fatigue 
of the day, though had I once taken the trouble of re- 



367 

fleeting on the practice of former yeai-s, I might easily 
have known I was to suffer some additional mortifi- 
cations. The interval between dinner and the hour 
for tea was employed in a general invective against 
the plague of keeping servants, in which IMis. M 
gave notable proofs of a profound domestic under- 
standing. 

There is a practice, at the general run of tea tables, 
for the company to pour the remains of every cup 
into a particular basin ; and in this comfortable mix- 
ture of slops, the elegance of under bred delicacy 
always rinses the various cups in the order they are 

emptied. Mrs. M , who values herself highly on 

the proper discharge of the tea table duties, is a warm 
friend to this delicious custom, and always takes care 
to clean the cup of each individual in the united slab- 
berings of the whole. For my part, though I am far 
from being a nice man, yet 1 prefer my own dirt to 
the dirt of other people, and on that account, endea- 
vour to guard my cup from undergoing so extraordi- 
nary a purification, wdicrever I know this mode of 

rinsing is kept up. Mrs. M , however, was not 

to be eluded. Under a supposition that my back- 
wardness in this respect proceeded from a fear of 
giving her the least trouble, she insisted on my cup 
with a good natured peremptoriness, and obliged 
me to pretend a sudden pain in the head to avoid 
the disagreeable consequences of her misguided ci- 
vihty. Armed with this excuse, I took my leave, 
not a little happy at so fortunate an escape, where I 
was afraid I should have been obliged to pass the 
whole evening. 



36'6 

From this little picture, one may, perhaps, be led to 
reflect upon the disagreeable shake of a sweaty hand , 
the indelicate custom of picking one's nose ; and the 
unpardonable practice of standing with our backs to 
the fire on a cold day, by which we entirely cut off 
every possible beam of warmth fi'om the rest of the 
company. These, sir, are errors in which the po- 
litest part of our people indulge themselves, as well 
as the most underbred ; and they are errors of so dis- 
agreeable a nature, that I heartily wish, for the credit 
of our country, w^e would once resolve to shake them 
off, as they are not only the objects of our own ridi- 
cule, but are also ridiculed by every sensible nation 
in Europe. 



. 1 ' 

THE TRUE GAMESTER. 

When I was at Aix, there was a little Italian, who^ 
within a fortnight, had undergone as many revolutions 
of fortune, as in general fall to the lot of the most ex- 
traordinary gamester during his whole life. 

He came there as an adventurer, with a few Louis 
d'ors in his pocket, determined to try the favour of 
fortune ; his first attempt was at hazard, w^here he 
played crown stakes, and as fortune kindly smiled on 
him, encreased to an half guinea, guinea, and so on^ 
to bank notes. In the space of twenty-four hours he 
had stripped the bank of upwards of four thousand 
pounds, and the next morning, resuming his opera- 



369 

tions, broke the bank entirely, his winnings amount^ 
ing to more than nine thousand pounds. 

One would have imagined that a poor needy ad- 
venturer, who most probably had never seen a twen- 
tieth part of such a sum before, would have packed 
up his all immediately, and returned to his native 
country. Content, however, was a stranger to his 
mind, and the accession of one sum only brought with 
it anxiety for another. 

For several days the bankers could not play, so 
completely had he reduced them to their last stakes ; 
a supply of cash at last arrived, which enabled them 
to open a fresh campaign ; our little adventurer stuck 
close to them ; for a few hours his usual success at- 
tended him ; the tables at last turned upon him, and 
from being the possessor of ten thousand pounds, he 
left the bank, reduced toJ|is last Louis. 

When he reached his lodgings, he could not help 
taking a retrospective view of his conduct. How did 
he bew^ail his situation ! how lament that he had not 
been content with his former gain, and retired to his 
own country to enjoy the fruits of his success ! to 
complain, however, of his situation, could not amend 
it J being convinced of this, he determined to make 
one more vigorous effort to recover the money he had 
lost ; fully determined in his own mind to leave Aix 

. directly, if fortune should once more smile upon him ; 

^: yet how to raise money sufficient to put himself in the 

fickle jade's way he could not tell. At last, how- 

V ever, he recollected a friend whom he had assisted in 

several emergencies, and who resided only a few 

47 



370 

miles clistante He asked and obtained of him the 
loan of thirty pounds. Our Italian returned with this 
to the gaming table : good luck attended him, and 
he left it with more than ten thousand pounds ; but 
instead of returning to Italy, he returned to the gam- 
ing table, where, in a few hours, he was stripped of 
every sol he had in the world. 



ON RICHES. 



Riches seems at present to be the aim of almost 
all mankind, and a man's character and reputation 
is formed only from w^hat he possesses. Honesty is 
now hidden in the obscure paths of hfe, while vice 
blazons forth in the seat of affluence : every virtue, 
every generous passion of the heart, is Suppressed, 
and the love of gold reigns supreme within the breast. 
Even the scanty coffers of the poor are searched, and 
they are stripped of their little all, to feed the greedy 
hand of avarice. But, O heavens ! who would ima- 
gine that this baneful passion would find an abode 
within the tender bosom of the fair— alas ! too many 
instances of this fatal truth daily present themselves ; 
how often do we see the lovely maid, with all the 
charms of youth and beauty, married to a sordid 
wretch, whose gray hairs show him to be bordering 
on the grave, and who has nothing to recommend 
him but his treasure. Can such an union spring from 
love ! yes — it springs from a love of gold — her heart 



371 

was captivated with his riches — from them she ex- 
pected lasting enjoyment. How mortifying, how de- 
grading is it, to think that this baneful passion should 
have so much influence in the world. When a rich 
man speaketh, every one holdeth his tongue, and lo ! 
what he saith every one extolleth to the skies ; but 
if a poor man speak, they say, " what fellow is this ?" 
He who has nothing but merit to recommend him is 
despised, while he, who, though ignorant, possesses 
riches, is universally respected. 



THE THREE DREAMERS. 

Two traders were proceeding on a pilgrimage ; a 
countryman, who was prosecuting the same journey, 
having joined them on the road, they agreed to travel 
together, and to make a joint stock of their provisions. 
But when they arrived within a days journey of the 
place, it was almost wholly expended, so that nothing 
was left but a little flour, barely suflicient to make a 
small cake. The perfidious traders entered into a 
plot together to cheat their companion of his share, 
and from his stupid air, imagined they could dupe 
him without difficulty. "We must come to some 
agreement," said one of the citizens ; " what will not 
assuage the hunger of three, may satisfy a single per- 
son, and 1 vote that it be allotted to one of us only. — 
But that each may have a fair chance, I propose 
that we all three lie down and fall asleep, and that 
the bread may be the lot of him who, on awaking, 



372 



shall have the most curious dream/' The other citi- 
zen, as we may readily suppose, approved vastly of 
this suggestion. The countryman also signified his 
approbation, and pretended to give completely into 
the snare. They then made the bread, put it on the 
fire to bake, and lay down. But our tradesmen were 
so much fatigued with their journey, that, without in- 
tending it, they soon fell into a profound slumber. 
The clown, more cunning, waited only this opportu- 
nity, got up without noise, went and eat the bread, 
and then composed himself to rest. Soon after, one 
of the citizens awoke, and calling to his companions, 
'' Friends," said he, " listen to my dream : I thought 
myself transported by two angels into hell. For a long 
time they kept me suspended over the abyss of ever- 
lasting fire. I here was witness to the torments of the 
damned." " And I," said the other, '^ dreamed that 
the gates of heaven were open to me ; the arch-angels, 
Michasl and Gabriel, after raising me up into the sky, 
carried me before the throne of God. There I was a 
spectator of his glory." And then the dreamer began 
to relate the wonders of paradise, as the other had of 
the infernal abodes. The countryman, meanwhile, 
though he heard perfectly well what they said, pre- 
tended to be still asleep. They went to rouse him 
from his slumber ; when he, affecting the surprise of a 
man suddenly disturbed from rest, cried out, "what 
is the matter ?" '' Why it is only your fellow travel- 
lers ; what, do you not recollect us ? Come, arise, and 
inform us of your dream." " My dream ? Oh ! I have 
fead a very droll one, and one that I am sure will af~ 



373 

ford you some diversion. When I saw you both car- 
ried away, the one to heaven, the other to hell, I 
thought that 1 had lost you forever. I then got up, 
and as I expected never to see you any more. I went 
and demolished the loaf" 



THE UNGRATEFUL GUEST. 

A certain soldier in the Macedonian army had, in 
many instances, distinguished himself by extraordi- 
nary acts of valour, and had received many marks of 
Philip's favour and approbation. On some occasion 
he embarked on board a vessel, which was wrecked 
by a violent storm, and he himself cast on shore, help- 
less, naked, and scarcely with the appearance of life. 
A Macedonian, whose lands were contiguous to the 
sea, came opportunely to be a witness of his distress, 
and with all humane and charitable tenderness flew 
to the relief of the unhappy stranger. He bore him 
to his house, laid him in his ow^n bed, revived, che- 
rished, comforted, and for forty days supplied him free- 
Iv with all the necessaries and conveniences which 
his languishing condition could require. 

The soldier, thus happily rescued from death, was 
incessant in the warmest expressions of gratitude to 
his benefactor, assured him of his interest with the 
king, and of his power and resolution of obtaining 
for him, from the royal bounty, the noble returns 
wiiich such extraordinary benevolence had merited. 



He was now completely recovered, and his kind host 
supplied him with money to pursue his journey. 

In some time after, he presented himself before the 
king ; he recounted his misfortunes, and magnified his 
services ; and this inhuman wretch, who had looked 
with an eye of envy on the possessions of the man 
who had preserved his life, was now so abandoned to 
all sense of gratitude, as to request that the king 
w^ould bestow upon him the house and lands where 
he had been so kindly entertained. Unhappily, Philip, 
without examination, inconsiderately and precipitate- 
ly granted his infamous request ; and this soldier now 
returned to his preserver, and repaid his goodness by 
turning him from his little settlement, and taking im- 
mediate possession of the fruits of his honest industry. 

The poor man, stung with this instance of unparal- 
leled ingratitude and insensibility, boldly determined, 
instead of submitting to his wrongs, lo seekrehef; 
and in a letter addressed to Philip, represented his 
own and the soldier's conduct in a lively and affect- 
ing manner. 

The king was instantly fired with indignation ; he 
ordered that justice should be done without delay ; 
that the possessions should be immediately restored 
to the man whose charitable offices had been thus 
horribly repaid : and having ordered the soldier to 
be seized, caused the words, " The Uiigrateful Guest^^'' 
to be branded on his forehead — a character infamous 
in every age, and among all nations, but particularly 
among the Greeks, who, from the earliest times, were 
most scrupulously observant of the laws of hospitality. 



375 

A GOOD STORT. 

The following anecdote of an honest farmer, (one 
of the first settlers,) which happened at Westminster, 
will serve to show^the fanatical spirit which then pre- 
vailed — so contrary to that liberal toleration now 
prevalent over America, and which so happily unites 
every denomination of christians in the bonds of cha- 
rity and love — ^But to the story : 

The farmer in question was a plain pious man, re- 
gular in the discharge of his duty both to God and his 
neighbour ; but unluckily he happened to live near 
one with whom he was not inclined to cultivate 
either civil or friendly terms ; this troublesome per- 
sonage was no other than a monstrous overgrown he 
bear, that descended from the mountains, trod down 
and destroyed the corn fields, and carried off what- 
ever he laid his paws upon. The plundered sufferer 
watched him in vain, the ferocious and cunning ani- 
mal ever finding methods to elude his utmost vigi- 
lance ; and at last it learned its cue so thoroughly, as 
only to commit its depredations on the Lord's day, 
when it knew from experience the coast was clear. 
Wearied out with these oft repeated trespasses, the 
good man resolved on the next Sunday to stay in the 
fields, where, with his gun, he concealed himself—- 
Ihe bear came according to custom — he fired, and 
shot it dead. The explosion threw the whole con- 
gregation (for it was about the hour of people's as- 
sembling to worship) into consternation. The cause 
was inquired into ; and as soon as the pastor, deacon. 



376 

and elders became acquainted with it, they called a 
special meeting of the church, and cited their offend- 
ing brother before them, to show cause, if any he had, 
why he should not be excommunicated out of Christ's 
church for this daring and unexampled impiety. In 
vain did he urge, from the scriptures themselves, that it 
was lawful to do good on the Sabbath day ; he plead- 
ed before judges determined to condemn him ; and 
the righteous parson, elders, and church, with one 
voice, agreed to drive him from amongst them, as 
polluted and accursed. Accordingly, he was enjoin- 
ed (as is customary on such occasions) on the next 
Sabbath to attend his excommunication in the church. 
He did attend — but not entirely satisfied with the sen- 
tence, and too much of a soldier to be scandalized in 
so public a manner for an action which he conceived 
to be his duty, he resolved to have recourse to strata- 
gem : he therefore went to the appointment, with his 
gun loaded with a brace of balls, his sword and car- 
tridge box by his side, and his knapsack on his back, 
with six days provisions in it. Service was about 
half over when he entered the sanctuary in this mar- 
tial array. He marched leisurely into a corner, and 
took his position. As soon as the benediction was 
ended, the holy parson began his excommunication : 
but scarce had he pronounced the words "offending 
brother," when the honest veteran cocked and levelled 
his weapon of destruction, at the same time crying 
out with aloud voice, "proceed if you dare — proceed, 
and you are a dead man !" At this unexpected at- 
tack, the astonished clergyman shrunk behind his 



3.77 

desk, and his opponent, with great deliberation, reco- 
vered his arms. Some moments elapsed before the 
parson had courage to peep from his ecclesiastical 
battery, when finding the old hero had come to a 
rest; he tremblingly reached the order to the eldest 
deacon, desiring him to read it ; the deacon, with stam- 
mering accents, and eyes staring wild with affright, 
began as he was commanded ; but no sooner had he 
done so, than the devoted victim again levelled his 
piece, and more vehemently than before exclaimed, 
*' desist, and march — I will not live with shame — de- 
sist and march, I say, or you are all dead men !" Lit- 
tle need had he to repeat his threats ; the man of 
God leaped from his desk and escaped ; the deacon, 
elders,, and congregation followed in equal trepida- 
tion ; the greatest confusion prevailed : the women 
with shrieks and cries sought their homes ; the victor 
was left undisturbed master of the field, and of the 
church too, the doors of which he calmly locked, put 
the keys in his pocket, and sent them with his re- 
spects to the pastor. He then marched home with 
all the honours of war, lived thirteen years after- 
wards, and died a brother in full communion, declar- 
ing to the last (among his intimates) that he never 
tasted so great a dainty before. 



THE MASK. 



A beautiful lady of Bordeaux mourned with the 
tiincerest grief for her husband, who, as she heard by 



578 

report, had perished by shipwreck. A numerous 
crowd of suitors, attracted by her youth and charms^ 
only waited the confirmation of this rumour to solicit 
her hand. She behaved towards them with the ut- 
most decency and propriety: yet^ as she wished to 
make some return for the politeness they showed her, 
she made a splendid entertainment for them on one o£ 
the concluding days of the carnival. While the com- 
pany were engaged in play, a stranger, masked, and 
habited as a genius, entered, and sat down to play 
with the lady. He lost, demanded his revenge, and 
lost again. This adverse fortune attended him ten 
or twelve times successively, because he adroitly 
managed the dice in such a manner that the chance 
was continually against him. Other players then 
wished to try their luck with him, but the experiment 
did not turn to their advantage. The lady again re- 
sumed her place, and won an immense sum, which 
the mask lost with a good humour and gaiety that 
absolutely astonished the spectators. Some person 
observed, loud enough to be heard, that this was not 
playing, but lavishly throwing away one's money ; 
on Avhich, the mask, raising his voice, said that he was 
the dcemon of riches, which he valued not, except so 
far as it was in his power to bestow them on that lady : 
and immediately, to prove the truth of his words, he 
produced several bags full of gold, and others filled 
with diamonds and different kinds of precious stones, 
offering to stake them, at one single throw, against 
any thing of the most trivial value she might please 
to propose. The lady, starded and embarrassed by 



O' 



79 



this declaration, now refused to play any more ; and 
the whole company knew not what to think of this 
extraordinary occurrence — when an old lady present 
observed to the person next her, that the mask must 
certainly be the devil ; that his riches, his appearance, 
his discourse, and his dexterity at play, all sufficiently 
showed what he was. The stranger, overhearing this, 
profited by the hint. He assumed the air and stile 
of a magician, mentioned several things which could 
be known only to the lady, spoke many foreign lan- 
guages, performed many ingenious tricks — and con- 
cluded by declaring that he had come to demand a 
certain person in the company, who had given herself 
to him, and who, he protested, belonged to him ; as- 
serting, at the same time, that he would take her 
to himself, and never leave her more, in defiance of 
every obstacle. All eyes were now turned on the 
lady, who knew not what to think of this adventure. 
The women trembled — the men smiled — and the ge- 
nius still continued to excite the perplexity and ad- 
miration of the company. This extraordinary scene 
lasted so long, that some grave personages at last ar- 
rived, who interrogated the daemon, and were on the 
point of exorcising him. 

The mask, however, turned every thing into ridi- 
cule with so much wit, that he had the laughter on his 
side. At length, when he found that it was no 
longer time for raillery, he took off his mask, which im- 
mediately brought on the denoueraent of this extraor- 
dinary entertainment, by exciting an exclamation of 
joy from the mistress of the house. In the generous 



380 

stranger she immediately reeognized her husbandj 
who having been to Spain, had gone from thence to 
Peru, where he had made an immense fortune, and 
returned laden with riches. He had learned, on his 
arrival, that his ladj was to give an entertainment and 
a masqued ball to some particular friends. An op- 
portunity so favourable to disguise, inspired him with 
a wish to introduce himself without being known, and 
he had chosen the most extravagant dress he could 
meet with. 

The whole company, which, in a great measure, 
consisted of his relations and friends, congratulated 
him on his return, and willingly resigned to him his 
amiable lady, whom he had very justly claimed as 
his own. 



CHINESE JUSTICE. 

A MERCHANT Oi the city of Nankin had, with equal 
industry and integrity, acquired a considerable for- 
tune, which awakened the rapacious spirit of the 
viceroy of that province : on the pretence, therefore, 
of its being too rapidly accumulated, he gave some 
intimations of his design to make a seizure of it. The 
merchant, who had a numerous family, hoped to baffle 
the oppressive avarice that menaced him, by dividing 
his possessions among his children, and depending 
upon them for support. 

But the spirit of injustice, when strengthened by 



381 

power, is not easily thwarted in its designs : the vice* 
roy, therefore, sent his children to the army, seized on 
their property, and left the father to beg his bread. — 
His tears and humble petitions were fruitless; the 
tyrannical officer, this vile vicegerent of a beneficent 
sovereign, disdained to bestow the smallest reiief on 
the man he had reduced to ruin : so that, exasperated 
by the oppression of the minister, the merchant at 
length determined to throw himself at the feet of his 
sovereign to obtain redress, or die in his presence. 

With this design he begged his way to Pekin ; and 
having surmounted all the difficulties of a long and 
painful journey, he at length arrived at the imperial 
residence ; and, having prepared a petition that con- 
tained a faithful statement of his injuries, he waited 
■with patience in an outer court till the emperor should 
pass to attend the council. But the poverty of his 
appearance had almost frustrated his hopes : and the 
attendant mandarins were about to chastise his intru- 
sion, when the attention of the emperor was attracted 
by the bustle w^hich the poor man's resistance occa- 
sioned : at this moment he held forth a paper, which 
his imperial majesty ordered to be brought to his 
palanquin: and having perused its contents, com- 
manded the petitioner to follow him. 

It so happened, that the viceroy of Nankin was at- 
tending his annual duty in the council : the emperor 
therefore charged him with the crime stated in the 
poor man's petition, and commanded him to make 
his defence ; but, conscious of his guilt, and amazed 
at the unexpected discovery, his agitation, his looks, 



382 

and his silence condemned him. The emperor then 
addressed the assembled council on the subject of 
the viceroy's crime, and concluded his harangue with 
ordering the head of his tyranical officer to be instant- 
ly brought on the point of a sabre. The command 
was obeyed ; and while the poor old man was won- 
dering on his knees at the extraordinary event of the 
moment, the emperor addressed him in the following 
manner ; " Look," said he, " on the awful and bleed- 
ing example before you, and as I now appoint you 
his successor, and name you viceroy of the province 
of Nankin, let his fate instruct you to fulfil the duties 
of your high and important office with justice and 
moderation,'^ 



THE HUMOURS OF A WET SUNDAY. 

'Having dined with a friend, a few Sundays ago, 
at his seat, within a few miles of this city, I was, on 
my return home, overtaken by a violent shower, and 
obliged to put up at the first public house I met with 
on the road. While I was there, watching the weather 
from a window, that I might seize a favourable mo- 
ment to pursue my journey without being in a drip- 
ping condition, I was not a little amused with a col- 
lection of draggled females, who, with their loving 
husbands, &c. were driven, by the torrent's pouring 
upon their heads, to shelter themselves under the 
same roof. 



388 

" L — d have mercy upon me !" exclaimed a womaa 
of the largest si^, and rendered still more weighty 
by her corpulence, "L — d have mercy upon me!" 
wiping her face, which shone like a cook maid's, with 
her apron, " I am sure this is making a toil of plea- 
sure ; here we labour and take pains all the week, 
on purpose to have a little comfort on Sunday, and 
now you see, I shall spoil every individual thing about 
me ; besides, I am so fatigued into the bargain : but 
I told my husband, this very morning, that I would 
never set out again without a coach, or a shay, or 
something to carry me." "You're in the right of it," 
replied her friend, a tall raw boned woman, with her 
mouth full of pins, with which she was endeavouring 
to pin up her petticoat, " I am sure I will not slave 
myself to death again for all the pleasure upon earth : 
and yet I'll not sit at home all day neither." 

" What's that you won't do ?" said a poor, meager^ 
half starved fellow, who had by this time come up 
to them, with a heavy child under each arm, " I am 
sure you have not the reason to complain I have, 
who have carried the boys so many miles : you are 
never satisfied ; but you shall cany them yourself the 
rest of the way, or leave them behind." Here, being 
hardly able to stand with his incumbrances, he was 
^oing to throw off his load ; his rib then called out to 
him in a raised, but not very melodious voice, ''don't 
offer to sit my children down, don't, I say ! Do you 
think I will have their coats wetted, and their frocks 
dirtied ? Who must clean them ? Not you, I sup- 
pose you will tell me, like a sneaking puppy as you 



384 

are ! but come what will, please God, you shall stand 
at the wash tub till you drop ; for I shall see them all 
got up, to cure you of dragging me from home upon 
my feet ; and now we are brought into this precious 
ioickle, I wonder what is to become of us." 

"Oh," replied her unwieldy neighbour, "we must 
stay till we can light a coach ; and in the mean time 
let us call for something. What do you like best, 
ma'am ?" 

" You may call for what you please," answ^ered the 
distressed husband, interrupting her, "but then you 
must pay for it, as I have not a single sixpence left out 
of my whole week's wages — 'tis all gone." " Gone !'^ 
cried his clamorous lady, " Why, then, if we should 
have the good luck to meet with a shay or a coach, 
we must be wet to the skin because you have no 
money to pay for it.'' " No, but you have," replied 
he, "fori gave you every penny that I received last 
night, and did not keep back enough for a single pot 
of porter : I am sure I drank nothing but Adam's ale 
after my bread and cheese before I went to bed, which 
has made me as weak as a rat." " Weak !" said she, 
" weak with drinking water ! that's a good one, in- 
deed ! I am sure there is not a wholesomer liquor in 
the world." " Then I wonder, my dear," answered 
he, with an arch look, "that you drink so much strong 
liquor yourself." 

" I drink strong beer ! Aye, and so I do, or else 
how should I be able to suckle my two twins. God 
help me ! as women go through so much in this world, 
they have need of something to support them ; but 



^5 

men are always grudging them, and taking every 
thing for themselves." 

" Zounds ! what ails the woman," said the pro- 
voked husband, " with her grudging ? did'nt I give 
you all." 

'' Yes, and then went and run up a long score at 
the black dogs ; so we shall nut have a farthing left 
to pay our rent." 

" Why, we cannot eat our cake and have it,'' said 
he ; " you wanted to come a pleasuring, and so let's 
hear no more about it." 

The waiter now made his appearance with a bowl 
of punch and a plate of cold boiled beef; and by so 
doing, put a stop to their altercation, as they all fell 
to as if they had not eaten a morsel that day, though 
they had dined very heartily upon a fillet of veal, and 
a gammon, and despatched a large quantity of strong 
beer, with a pot of tea, and several plates of bread 
and butter. 

The present refreshment put them into a tolerable 
humour, the mother of the twins took them by turns 
to the breast, while the father of them sat down in 
the corner of the room to rest himself till the rain Avas 
over. When he had began to think of setting off for 
the capital, the huge waisted lady said to his wife in 
a whisper, " if you will lend me enough to discharge 
the reckoning, I will treat in return next Sunday." The 
curious trio above mentioned having thoroughly lin- 
ed their insides, set out on foot, and became quite re- 
gardless of their outsides ; but their expenses had 
been so heavy, and the reparations of the damages 

41? 



386 

which their clothes had sustained made such 
breaches in their pockets, that they were obhged, 
not only to work harder than usual during the follow- 
ing week, but to deny themselves some of the lowest 
necessaries of life ; yet all their labour and economy 
could not enable them to make another excursion 
when the next vSunday arrived ; and as that Sunday 
happened to be a remarkable fine one, they spent it 
in quarrelling, because they could not enjoy it by 
abusing it. 



ANECDOTE. 



A gentleman called one morning upon a lady of his 
acquaintance ; after paying his respects, he discovered 
she appeared rather serious ; he desired to know the 
cause of her being thus pensive ; the lady replied, sir 
you mistake the matter totally, for on the contrary, I 
was just meditating of the happiness of being an 
American; and observed that she had always under- 
stood that the British government had been remarked 
for its mildness and utility of laws; but here, she said, 
she must confess, that she found nothing of that kind 
in them ; and turning to the gentleman with a flirt of her 
fan and a kind of a sneer, asked him what he thought 
of the Newfoundland bill ? It appeared to her, she 
said, like commencing hostilities before a declaration, 
which would pass well enough from one nation 
against another where injuries had been received, but 



387 

lo sulTer such a law to operate without the least pre- 
vious notice, to the manifest prejudice of the subject, 
was exceedingly cruel, and, in her opinion, enough to 
tarnish any British senate whatever. The American 
system, she said, was a very different one, for all uni- 
ted in one common cause to promote the interest of 
one another, and acted upon different principles as 
free and independent sons of liberty. The gentle- 
man advised her not to exult too much, and recom- 
mended her being a little more cautious in expressing 
her sentiments so freely, telling her, as she resided in 
a British government, and under the immediate pro- 
tection and favour of its laws, he thought less free- 
dom of speech Avould best suit her interest, lest that 
government, which she was exclaiming against, should 
undertake to seize her; she laughed very heartily at the 
gentleman's observation, and said she admired his 
idea of protection and favour under the British laws ; 
there were few, she believed, if any, who could boast 
of that, and as to her own part, she thanked him for 
his kind advice, though she had nothing to fear, 
for she was legally registered^ and navigated according 
to law, and therefore defied any person seizing her ; no, 
not even the admiral himself, much less any of his 
captains. 



REWARD OF VILLANY. 



A poor French cottager, who had a few pounds left 
him, and whose wife lay in, was obliged to go to Aix 
on business. In the way he met with an old ac- 



388 

quaintance, whom he informed of the legacy, desiring 
also that he would call at home, and purchase for his 
wife such things as she might want. When he en- 
tered the cottage, after the customary salutations, he 
asked the woman for the money. She replied, that 
they being very poor, could ill spare it, but if he was 
in real necessity, she would lend it to him. He return- 
ed for answer, he meant not to borrow, but to take it 
for his own use. It was in vain for a person in her 
condition to expostulate with a villain, she therefore 
pointed to the cupboard, and he took it : then turning 
to her, said, " this is not all — you must prepare for 
death, and choose whether you will be burned, poi- 
soned, or hanged." 

The woman was amazed at the cruelty and bar- 
barity of the man's proposal, and beseech ed him to 
go away, solemnly declaring that she would sooner 
die than discover the robber to her husband ; he be- 
haved resolute and determined ; and she, forced at 
last to accept the horrible choice, preferred hanging. 
The villain immediately retired to a little out-house, 
taking with him a cord and a stool, upon w^hich he 
stood to fasten the cord to a cross beam. Whilst he 
was making the noose, the stool slipped from under 
him, and his right hand was caught in the noose, and 
held him suspended. She, affrighted and terrified at 
the villain's horrid voice, screamed so very loud as to 
be heard by some distant cottagers, who came to her 
relief. To them she related the above story ; they went 
to the out-house immediately, where they saw him 
suspended ; they took him down and carried him to Aix, 
where he was tried and broke upon the wheel. 



389 



TRAGICAL ACCOUNT OF A COURTEZAN OF BRABANT 
WHO MURDERED HER HUSBAND. 

About ten years ago, M. cle la Place, returning to 
business after a month's absence, had his carriage 
stopt, between the hours of twelve and one in the day, 
by a great concourse of people, the officers of justice 
being then conducting a criminal to execution. 

But how great was his surprise to see a young wo- 
man, about eight and twenty, tall, well made, and of 
so fine a figure, that even the remembrance of her 
crime could not prevent its interesting every specta- 
tor in her favour, who, to complete the singularity of 
her appearance, was habited in a kind of pantaloon 
or hussar dress of white satin. 

It was easily to be imagined he endeavoured to 
procure information concerning the crimes she had 
committed, and the strange dress in which she was to 
suffer punishment. 

" I am able to satisfy your curiosity in both these 
particulars," said one of the officers of justice, "for I 
was present at her trial in the first court, the sentence 
of which was yesterday confirmed by the sovereign 
council of Brabant. 

" No sooner was her arraignment read, than she ad- 
dressed the judge in a resolute, though decent man- 
ner. 'To shorten the proceedings,' said she, 4he 
tediousness of which is worse to me than death, con- 
descend, my lord, to hear my history ; you will find 
me to conceal nothing but my birth, which secret, 
however unimportant to you, no tortures shall force 
from me. 



590 

^ I was not more than sixteen years of age, when, af- 
ter having been the victim of seduction, of which 
there are but few similar examples, I arrived in Paris 
under a feigned name. In this situation, the people into 
whose hands 1 fell plunged me into many scenes of 
guilt and misery, from which I could never afterwards 
expect to emerge, as my inexperience and friendless 
state seemed to preclude all hope. 

' After having passed through all the varieties of a 
life, no less wretched than culpable, the particulars 
of w4rich are but too easily imagined, I was attacked 
by a malady rendered more formidable by want. A 
man of the low^er rank of people, I mean one of the 
coachmen of the deceased prince of Conti, and the 
only man whom I ever really loved, offered me as- 
sistance : and, by his means, I was restored to the en- 
joyment of a life which I vowed to dedicate entirely 
to my preserver. 

^ To complete my good fortune, a lottery ticket, 
which produced me ten thousand livres (four hundred 
guineas) enabled me to prove my gratitude tow^ards 
my lover ; and the passion we conceived for each 
other increased to such a degree, that we determined 
to renounce forever our mutual irregularities, 'and 
unite ourselves by an eternal and sacred bond, which 
we solemnly swore so to venerate, that whoever 
should first be proved to have violated it, the life of 
the violator should be forfeited to the vengeance of 
the other. 

' I dare even affirm, my lord, nor could the deceased 
himself deny it, that from that moment this duty be- 



- 391 

came my pleasure, though the return of my health 
procured me more than one temptation, which were 
rendered still more artful and ardent by my inflexi- 
ble refusal. 

' We were both unspeakably happy, and enjoyed 
that kind of mediocrity which placed us above w' ant ; 
nor did any thing diminish our felicity, till the death 
of the prince, whom my husband served, suddenly 
deprived us of half our little revenue. 

^ Soon after, however, count , to whom my hus- 
band had formerly been a servant, offered to procure 
him the place of second coachman to his royal high- 
ness prince Charles ; we determined, therefore, to set 
out for Brussels, where I employed what money w^e 
still possessed in a little business, while we waited 
the issue of the flattering promises of the count. 

'But idleness, that dreadful source of every vice, and 
the want of amusement, having allured my husband 
into the petty pubhc houses of the suburbs, the report 
of an inconstancy, of which he had been guilty, be- 
coming known to me, reduced me to such a condition 
that my life was despaired of. 

' His repentance, however, appeared so sincere, that, 
after'having reminded him, with some vehemence, of 
our covenant, I suff*ered myself to be prevailed on to 
grant him a pardon ; declaring, at the same time, if I 
found him false again, nothing should prevent my 
taking ample vengeance. Alas ! the faithless man 
again proved guilty, and I had again the virtue to 
forgive his inconstancy. 

" Having learned, however, a short time after, that 



392 

he not only had repeated his treacheryj but that, after 
having robbed me of what money and trinkets I had, he 
and my rival intended to set off for Paris by night, 
nothing could appease my rage, or prevail on me to 
defer my revenge* 

^ I gratified it that same night, during his first sleep, 
and employed his own sword as my instrument. 

' I might easily have effected my escape ; I had at 
least four hours before me ; and as I had, with this 
view, sent away my servant, i might have been at 
a great distance from Brussels before my crime could 
have been known. 

' But as soon as I saw my husband's blood pouring 
from his wound, the blood of a man for whom, two 
months before, I would gladly have shed every drop 
of my own, seized with horror, I fainted, and only re- 
covered my senses to see him expire in my arms. 

' Laying hold, therefore, of the bloody instrument 
of my revenge, I resolved to bury it in my own bosom ; 
but, no, said I, the punishment is too mild ; the most 
lingering and cruel tortures are insufficient to expiate 
my crime. 

' You know the rest, my lord,' continued she, ad- 
dressing her Judge : ' Avithout swemng from my reso- 
lution, which seemed in some measure to mitigate the 
dreadful torments of remorse, I refused to quit the 
body till separated from it by the officers of justice, 
whom I now only implore to hasten the punishment 
due to my most horrid offence.' 

" I confess, sir," continued the officer, " that no- 
thing ever affected me more forcibly than the con- 



393 

fession of thife woman, and it interested me ^ 
much, desirous to see whether she would manifest 
the same firmness in the presence of the council of 
Brabant, when she came, as the expression is in that 
country, to demand her sentence, I went thither 
yesterday morning, an hour, at least, before she was 
brought before her judges. 

" To the great astonishment of the assembly, she 
still preserved the same resolution, till she heard her- 
self condemned to the wheel. But then, with a pier- 
cing cry which penetrated our very souls, and with 
language at once expressive of indignation and sur- 
prise. ^ The wheel!' said she, 'the wheel! Do 
you forget, gentlemen, I am a woman ?^ 

' Such,' said they, ' is appointed by the law of 
the emperor Charles the fifth, for those convicted of 
the crime that you have committed.' 

'Barbarous man ! Ah ! had I known this !' ex- 
claimed she in a voice almost stifled with passionate 
sobbing. 

" But, recovering herself a moment after, ^ I ask par- 
don, gentlemen, there is iio kind of torment or dis- 
grace which I do not well deserve. Permit me only 
— and 1 will undergo my sentence with resignation — 
permit me only to appear on the scaffold in such a 
dress that my person may not be indecently exposed 
to the spectators.' 

" Her request was granted, and she returned thanks 
to her judges with much humility. 

" She was then taken back to prison, where she in- 

50 



594 

stantly sent for a taylor, to make her a habit, in which 
you have just seen her led towards the scaffold." 

An hour after M. de la Place saw her, she suffered 
with the most heroic fortitude. 



HORRID INSTANCE OF DEPRAVITY. 

A green-grocer, whose name we shall forbear to 
mention, in pity to his unfortunate family, and wh© 
lived lately in the neighbourhood of Paddington, me- 
ditated, a few days ago, the destruction of his wife 
and children by poison ; but by the most singular in- 
terposition of providence, the diabolical wretch fell a 
victim to his own snare. 

To carry this unnatural scheme into effect, he pur- 
chased a leg of mutton, over which he rubbed a large 
quantity of arsenic, and sent it home to his wife, de- 
siring that she should dress the joint for the family 
dinner, as he could not return till night. 

The wife being a frugal woman, did not dress the 
meat, but dined with the children, on bread and 
cheese, of which she informed the monster, who 
seemed extremely disappointed. The next day he 
said that he should go out early to market, desiring 
that a beef steak should be provided for his dinner, 
but that the family must have the mutton, which he 
wished to have cold for his supper. 
.The wife obeyed — when the wretch having eat 
heartily of the steak, asked her in what it was fried, 



% 395 

us he thought it had a peculiar taste. The wife, 
strictly adhering to her economical plan, said, that 
instead of butter she had used the fat of the niutton, 
when the wretch instantly replied, ^'then I am a dead 
man, for I am poisoned." In a few hours afterwards 
he died in the most excruciating torture. It is gene- 
rally understood that the wretch had formed a con- 
nexion with some loose woman of the town, who 
probably suggested this plan of extirpating his family, 
that she might have the entire of his property, which 
is not inconsiderable. 



AN INGENIOUS WAY OF RAISING MONEY. 

About thirty years back, two young fellows, bro- 
thers, went to Jamaica ; they were by trade black- 
smiths. Finding, soon after their arrival, that they 
could do nothing without a little money to begin 
with, but that with sixty or seventy pounds, they 
might be able, with the aid of that and industry, to 
make a fortune, they hit upon the following novel 
and ingenious expedient. One of them stripped the 
other naked, shaved him close, and blackened him 
from head to foot. 

The ceremony being performed, he took him to 
one of the negro dealers, who, after viewing and ap- 
proving, advanced (he being a fine stout young fel- 
low) eighty pounds currency upon the bill of sale, 
and prided himself much upon the purchase, suppos- 
ing him the finest negro on the island. 



390 • 

The same evening this new manufactured negro 
made his escape to his brother; washed himself 
clean, and resumed his former appearance. Rewards 
were in vain offered in handbills ; pursuit was eluded, 
and discovery, by care and precaution, rendered im- 
practicable. 

The brothers, with the money, commenced busi- 
ness, and actually returned to England, not many years 
since, with a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. 
Previous, however, to their departure from the isl- 
and, they waited upon the gentleman of whom they 
had received the money, and recalling the circum- 
stance of the negro to his recollection, paid him prin- 
cipal and interest, with thanks. 

This story is well known and attested in the island. 



RESIGNATION. 



A certain gendeman (who has not been long dead) 
was so resigned to, and dependant on the will of pro- 
vidence, that, whatever accident happened to him, 
he not only said, but thought it was all for the better. 
He was going from Ireland to England, when step- 
ping into the packet boat, the entering rope broke, he 
fell into the pinnace, and shattered his leg : "Well," 
said the honest gentleman, " it is all for the better," 
which was his constant expression. His friend asked 
him how he could think breaking his leg, and the loss 
af his voyage, which might be followed by that of a 



397 

suit in chancery lie was going to attend, could be for 
the better! " Providence," replied he, "knows best. 
I am still of opinion it is for the better." He was 
carried back ; the packet boat sailed, foundered on 
her passage, and but one man was saved. 



INDIAN RETALIATION. 

About forty years ago, when these Americans did 
not know the Europeans, a traveller penetrated into 
their country, made them acquainted with fire arms, 
and sold them muskets and gunpowder: they went a 
hunting and got great plenty of game, and of course 
many furs. Another traveller went thither some time 
after, with ammunition ; but the Indians being still 
provided, did not care to bargain with the French- 
man, who invented a very odd trick in order to sell 
his pow'der, without much troubling his head w ith the 
consequences that might result from this imposture, 
to his countrymen. He thought he had done a great 
action in deceiving these poor people. 

As the Indians are naturally curious, they w ere de- 
sirous of knowing how powder, which they call grain, 
was made in France. The traveller made them be- 
lieve that it w^as sown in savannas, and that they had 
crops of it as of indigo or millet in America. 

The Missouris were pleased with the discovery, and 
sowed all the gunpowder which they had left, which 
obliged them to buy that of the Frenchman, who got 
a considerable quantity of beaver skins for it, and 



398 

afterwards went down the river, to the Illinois, where 
M. de Tonti commanded. 

The Missoiiris went from time to time to see the 
savanna, to see if the powder was growing ; they had 
placed a guard there to hinder the wild beasts from 
spoiling the field ; but they soon found out the French- 
man's trick. It must be observed that the Indians 
can be deceived but once, and they always remember 
it. Accordingly, they were resolved to be revenged 
upon the first Frenchman that should come to them. 
Soon after, the hopes of profit excited the traveller to 
send his partner to the Missonris with goods proper 
for commerce; the Indians soon found out that the 
Frenchman was associated with the man who had 
imposed upon them ; however, they dissembled, the 
trick which his predecessor had played. They gave 
him ihe public hut, which was in the middle of the 
village, to deposit his bales in. When they w^ere all 
laid out to view, the Missouris came in confusedly, 
and all those who had been foolish enough to sow 
gunpowder, took away some goods ; so the poor 
Frenchman was rid of all his bales at once, but with- 
out any equivalent from the Indians. He complained 
much of these proceedings and laid his grievance 
before the great chief, who answered him very gravely, 
that he should have justice done him ; but for that 
purpose he must wait for the gunpowder harvest, 
his subjects having sown that commodity by the ad- 
vice of his countryman, and that he might believe, 
upon the word of a sovereign, that after the harvest 
was over, he would order a general hunt, and that all 



399 

ihe skins of wild beasts that should be taken would 
be given him in return for the important secret which 
had been taught them. 



EXTRAORDINARY LOVE LETTER, 

From Peter Plainman to Miss Priscilla Prudish. 

Madam — I am a little afraid you and I shall never 
come together. There is that expectation of flattery 
about you that 1 cannot bear — ^yet as I love you well 
enough to be honest — a bold word that — I will once 
for all speak my mind, and I desire your attention. 
I believe I do not admire you or value you for any 
one of those charms for which you admire and value 
yourself. I do not, for instance, pay any adoration to 
the present brightness of your eyes, because I am so 
strange a fellow as to consider them philosophically. 
I write in honest prose, madam ; and therefore in 
honest prose I tell you, that those same balls of 
ethereal beauty, those same love-darting mirrors, are 
at best two pieces of ordinary clay varnished. The 
varnish, I allow, is good, and well put on ; but what 
of all this ? I am not such a short-sighted, amorous 
puppy, but I can look forward a little beyond the 
length of my liose, to the time when the gloss will 
all be worn away ; when the japan of nature will be 
utterly gone, and the devil a spark of fire will you 
have about you. Some time ago, I remember you 
showed me, in a great air of triumph, a paper scrawl- 



400 

ed upon by some florid puppy of your acquaintance* 
who swore, in very sorry verses, that your cheeks 
threw into utter despair ail the hlies and roses in the 
creation; your skin too was, if I recollect, polished 
marble ; the veins were compared to the azure of the 
third heaven, and the colour was whiter than alabas- 
ter. 'Tis a lie, Priscilla, 'tis a lie ; I never saw a pair 
of cheeks in my life that were fairer than a lilly, nor 
a pair of lips that were redder than a rose. As to 
alabastar, I will take upon me to say, there never was a 
woman's skin half so white in the whole world ; and 
I should be very glad to see a complexion so well 
polished as a piece of Egyptian marble. 1 am per- 
fectly sensible to handsome features ; I like to see the 
proper proportions of red and white ; I am very well 
pleased Avith a sparkling pair of eyes ; but I have no 
idea of calling any of these what they are not, nor of 
comparing them with objects to which they have no 
likeness whatever. For instance now, your bosom is 
said to be purer than the driven snow : if that is not 
carrying the jest as far as it will go, I don't know 
what is. As to features, skin, complexion, &c. they 
are so truly things of to-day, that if I was a woman, I 
should be afraid to put any trust in them. They have 
more enemies than the ever persecuted have. I could 
recount such a catalogue as would make 

" Your hair to stand an end, 

" Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." 

Go into your garden — fix your attention on the fairest 
flower ; take care that it is in the luxuriance of its 



401 

bloom. Did you ever behold tints more exquisite, 
scollops more exact, colours better mixed, or beauties 
better varied ? Now leave it. Pay it a second visit 
to-morrow morning. What are you surprised at ? — 
That a flower should fade ! A shght blast of wind in 
the night hath wholly destroyed it ; the tints are dead ; 
the colours are faded ; the beauty is no more. Step 
now to your toilette. Indeed, Priscilla, you arc very 
pretty : what a face, what an air, what a shape ! In 
the evening one of the thousand enemies of hand- 
some features overtakes you, and your second visit to 
the mirror shows — an ugly woman. I would not 
have you fix too violent a dependance upon features. 
Nor do I, Priscilla, estimate you according to your 
w^ealth : Certain it is, old Prudish, your father, left you 
rich ; but I wish you were not so fascinated with these 
possessions. I think there is under all your false ideas 
a good heart; 'tis this, Priscilla, which draws me 
towards you. I know we should live very happy- 
together if you would but comply with my terms — 
They are neither difiicult nor various : First, break 
your looking glass ; secondly, turn all your poets out 
of doors ; thirdly, throw their verses into the fire ; and, 
lastly, make a solemn vow never to trust in meta- 
phors and comparisons, two cursed things which have 
done more injury to young women than libertinism 
itself. What say you ? Will you agree to these con- 
ditions, and take to your bosom, without either lace 
on his coat, poetry in his head, or puppyism at his heart, 

Yours, 8ic. 

P. P . 

51 



402 



A GUILTY CONSCIENCE ITS OWN PUNISHMENT, 

A Prussian peasant accompanied some of his com- 
panions to the house of a fellow who assumed the 
character of a fortune-teller ; and having disobliged 
him, by expressing a contempt of his art, the fellow, 
out of revenge, prophesied that this man should die 
on a scaffold. This seemed to make little impression 
at the time, but afterwards 'recurred often to this 
unhappy creatures memory, and became every day 
more troublesome to his imagination. At length the 
idea haunted his mind so incessantly that he was 
rendered perfectly miserable, and could no longer 
endure life. 

He would have put himself to death with his own 
hands, had he not been deterred by the opinion, that 
God Almighty never forgives suicide ; though upon 
repentance he is very ready to pardon every other 
crime. He resolved, therefore, to commit murder, 
that he might be deprived of life by the hand of jus- 
tice ; and mingling a sentiment of benevolence with 
the cruelty of his intention, he reflected, that if he 
murdered a grown person, he might possibly send a 
soul to hell. To avoid this, he determined to murder 
a child, who could not have committed sin which de- 
served damnation, but dying in innocence, would go 
immediately to heaven. In consequence of these 
ideas, he actually murdered an infant of his master's, 
for whom he had always shown an uncommon degree 
of fondness. Such was the strancre account that this 



403 

infatuated creature gave on his trial ; and thus the 
random prophesy proved, as in many other cases, the 
cause of its own completion. 

He was executed about two miles from Berlin. As 
soon as he ascended the scaffold, he took off his coat 
and waistcoat ; his shirt was rolled down below his 
shoulders ; his night cap was pulled over his eyes ; 
he w as placed on his knees, and the executioner, with 
a single stroke of a broad sword, severed his head 
from his body. It was the first time this executioner 
had performed; there w^e re two others of the same 
trade on the scaffold, who exhibited an instance of 
insensibility more shocking than the execution. While 
the man's head rolled on the scaffold, and the arte- 
ries of the trunk poured out their blood, those men, 
with the gayest air imaginable, shook their brother 
by the hand, wished him joy, and clapping him on 
the back, congratulated him on the dexterous and ef- 
fectual manner in which he had performed his office. 



THE REAL PHILOSOPHER, 

In the suburbs of St. Marcel, where poverty reigns, 
a spotted fever cut down the people by hundreds. 

The confessors laboured night and day ; the arms 
of the grave diggers failed ; the hearse rolled from 
door to door, and was never empty. A reinforcement 
of priests were called in to assist the dying. A vene- 
rable capuchin entered a low hovel, where one of the 



404 

victims of contagion suffered ; an old man in dirty 
rags lay dying ; a bundle of straw serving him for 
a covering and a pillow^. Not a moveable, not a chair 
was in the house — he had sold all during the first days 
of his sickness for a little broth — and on his naked 
wall hung an axe and a saw. 

This was his whole possession, except the strength 
of his arms, which he was not able to lift up. 

" Take courage, my friend," said the confessor, " it 
is a great blessing God bestows on you to-day. You 
are going to depart from a world where you know 
nothing but misery." " But misery !" replied the dy- 
ing man with a feeble voice ; " you are mistaken ; I 
have lived contented, and never complained of my lot. 
I never knew hatred nor envy. My sleep was tran- 
quil. I laboured in the day, but I rested at night — 
the instruments which you see procured me bread, 
which I have eaten with pleasure. I never envied 
the table of the rich — I have observed the rich to be 
more subject to diseases than their neighbours. I 
was always poor, but never was sick until now. If I 
recover health, which I do not expect, I will return 
to labour, and continue to bless the hand of God 
which has hitherto cared for me." The astonished 
comforter knew not well what tone to take ; he could 
not reconcile the miserable thatch with the language 
of him who lay on it — recovering himself, he said, 
^' my son, though this life has not been unpleasant to 
you, you must nevertheless resolve to quit it ; for we 
owe submission to God's will." 

^' Without doubt," repUed the dying man, with a 



405 

lirm tone of voice and composed countenance, " all 
the world must pass in their turn. I have known 
how to live ; I know how to die. I thank God for 
giving me life, and conducting me through it to him- 
self. I feel the moment approach — adieu, my father." 
This is the death of a pious christian. 



APPLE DUMPLINGS. 

An old woman, on a Sunday, was making dumplings, 
when two of her grand sons came to see her, and being 
merrily inclined, conveyed some quick silver into the 
dough while her back was turned, and then took their 
leave. The old woman left the cooking to the care 
of her grand daughter, and went herself to church, 
charging her to be careful, and skim the pot, in which 
was to be boiled the dumplings and the mutton ; the 
girl was very careful to watch when the pot boiled, 
when taking off the cover, out jumped a dumpling, 
which she instantly put in again, Avhen out flew 
another, and ancfther after that, which so terrified the 
girl, that she ran with all speed to the church ; the old 
woman, seeing her come in, held up her hand, shook 
her head, winked at her, as much as to say begone ! 
at last the girl cried out, before the whole congrega- 
tion, " all your nodding and winking does not signify, 
for the leg of mutton has beat the dumplings out of 
the pot." This caused much laughing ; and her two 
grand sons, being then on their knees, saw plainly the 
pleasing effect of their experiment. But tricks played 



406 



W 



with quicksilver should be managed with great care^ 
as it is a very dangerous amusement. 



LUDICROUS ANECDOTE. 

A certain major H. a rich planter in the state of 
Virginia, was famous for his hospitality, and no less 
noted for the drollery which he frequently practised 
on strangers, who often lodged at his house. One 
evening a gentleman, passing through that part of the 
country, who was informed of the major's character, 
determined to halt there until the next morning. He 
accordingly stopped, and the humourist received him 
with his usual politeness. After the tea table was re- 
moved, and they had conversed for some time on dif- 
ferent subjects, the major asked the traveller if he 
could dance — the other answered in the negative ; 
but H. pretended to impute this answer to the stran- 
ger's modesty, insisted, in the politest manner possi- 
ble, that he must certainly be an adept in the 
accomplishment, and assured him that he should 
be highly gralified in seeing a specimen of his skill. 
The gentleman, much surprised at his host's importu- 
nity, obstinately persisted in denying the least 
knowledge of dancing, while Mr. H. strenuously in- 
sisted on the contrary. He then ordered his negro 
boy to bring in his fiddle, and requested his guest to 
gratify him in dancing a reel ; but the stranger beg- 
ged to be excused. The major, having repeated his 
desires to see the gentleman dance, and finding he 



407 

could not prevail upon him by entreaty, suddenly 
drew a pistol from his pocket, and presented it to the 
breast of the astonished traveller, swearing he must 
either instantly obey him, or he w^ould discharge its 
contents into his body. The stranger, seeing the ma- 
jor's resolution, was terrified into a compliance, and 
the music striking up, he fell to dancing with the 
greatest gravity imaginable, cursing the humour of his 
host from the bottom of his heart. Having exercised 
himself in this ridiculous manner (to the no small di- 
version of his host) till he was much fatigued, he 
was about to sit down ; but his tormentor, not yet 
satisfied with the fun, presented his pistol a second 
time, assuring the dancer his performance had hi- 
therto afforded so much entertainment, that he must 
continue it till further orders. The poor intimidated 
stranger, seeing the earnestness with which his mis- 
chievous host repeated his demand, began again, till 
extreme fatigue compelled him to beg a momentary 
respite. The major was inexorable, and compelled 
his panting guest to a further exercise of his limbs, 
till he was so far exhausted by fatigue that he could 
scarcely move. The major being at length fully satis- 
fied with the fu7i, liberated his prisoner about twelve 
o'clock at night, and retired from the room, leaving 
his pistol on the table. The instant the major was 
out of sight, the traveller took possession of the pis- 
tol, examined it, and found that it was not charged. — 
He was doubly initated when he found that he had 
been so completely duped, and instantly resolved to 
retaliate on his entertainer in a naanner he little ex- 



urn 

pected ; he therefore charged the pistol with povv- 
der and ball, which he happened to have about him, 
and on the major's return, the guest requested to be 
gratified in his turn ; but the major with great good 
humour observed that it was rather late for further 
diversion ; and desired his guest to retire to bed.— - 
" Sir," said the other, with great sang froid, " I insist 
on your dancing ;" the major still excused himself ; 
but his guest presenting the pistol at him, command- 
ed him to begin instantly, or abide by the conse- 
quence. The major, imagining the pistol was un- 
loaded, smiled at his threat, and w^as going off ; " Stop, 
sir," said the stranger, " do not think to. escape with 
impunity : you must know^ that I have charged the pis- 
tol, and by G — d you must either instantly obey, or ex- 
pect the consequence." He accordingly cocked the 
pistol, evincing a determined resolution to execute 
his threats, if not instantly obeyed — the major, seeing, 
by the resentment that sparkled in the eyes of his 
guest, he was in earnest, proceeded to action as soon 
as possible. 

The poor negro, who had not enjoyed a minutes 
rest from seven till twelve o'clock, thought the sport 
had ended with the first dance ; but the gentleman, 
after bestowing a few curses on him for his laziness, 
ordered him to play a brisk tune for his master, who 
was desirous of trying his skill next. The musician 
alleged in vain his fatigue, and being repeatedly ter- 
rified with threats of immediate death if he did not 
proceed, he played as hard as he could, while his 
master was obliged to submit to this musical disci- 



409 

pline. He kept the poor major most sweatingly 
to work till break of day, Avhen he ordered his 
horse to be brought, and in the mean time con- 
fined him as close to his work as ever. His horse 
being ready, the traveller prepared to mount, when 
the almost breathless major insisted on his staying to 
breakfast, assuring him he had never met with an 
equal match before, and he should think himself hap- 
py in a further acquaintance with the gentleman ; 
but the traveller doubting the sincerity of his host's 
professions, thanked him very politely, and assured 
him that his kindness had already laid him under ob- 
ligations he should not very soon forget ; then dis- 
charging the pistol at the door, he pursued his jour- 
ney with aching bones, but not a little pleased with 
having paid his host so well for his night's entertain- 
ment. 



THE STORM. 



It is dark, and a silent gloom pervades the face of 
heaven and earth, that makes my soul expand to 
such a magnitude, as if it would burst the very bosom 
which contains it. All is silent ! Fear takes posses- 
sion of my mind ; when, from an angry cloud, the liquid 
flames flash forth with terrible sublimity, darting 
from heaven to earth, and from earth to heaven, with 
such repeated swiftness, blazing expansive through 
the heaven's high vaults, then on a sudden vanish- 






410 

ing ! On rolls the distant thunder — solemnly sub- 
lime, and with the peeling rain and howhng wind^ 
approaches nearer ; between each peal out flashes 
the sulphureous flame, illumining the rushing cataract 
with its light ; succeeded by a crash most horrible, 
which shakes the verj earth to its centre ! Once 
more a sombre gloom spreads over the face of nature 
— again all is terror and confusion. 



SINGULAR MEMOIRS OF PAT O CONNOR. 

Pat O'Connor, who never boasted of his family, as 
they had been all buried in obscurity, having expe- 
rienced the many heart-achs of being out of employ, 
and sometimes the many belly-fulls of being in a good 
service ; after this round of ups and downs, at last en- 
gaged himself with an English gentleman at Cork, 
who was then about leaving Ireland. 

The day of departure came — Pat took leave of his 
friends and country; while his conjectures on his new 
master engaged his present thoughts. 

He soon became acquainted with London, as well 
as the intrigues and roguery of his employer, who 
having been the son of a late respectable citizen, 
thought he could never spend a small sum that had 
been left him too soon or extravagantly. 

A young lady near Windsor having attracted his 
notice, he was resolved, in his general phrase, to have 
her, notwithstanding she had already testified her dis- 



411 

approbation of his addresses, as well as her dishke to 
his person : this, however, instead of discouraging, 
provoked our volatile youth to meditate a design of 
ruining her ; for though his partiahty for ladies was 
great, yet marriage seldom entered his head. 

Her uncle, with whom she lived, being a strange 
character, that received the company of every one 
who boasted of his parentage and lineage, he deem- 
ed it an easy task to ingratiate himself in his favour. 
To accomplish this, however, he dared not to acknow- 
ledge himself the son of a citizen, as that would to- 
tally mar his designs, and defeat his purpose with the 
old gentleman. He w^as, therefore, resolved to dress 
up Pat O'Connor in great style, and introduce him as 
an Irish baronet, being his supposed uncle, whom he 
intended to instruct, and enable to puff off his un- 
known family. The project delighted poor Pat, who 
was highly pleased with the thoughts of becoming a 
gentleman. He promised to expatiate upon the ex- 
cellence of his birth, and inform the young lady's uncle 
of the large estate which he would givehim. The day 
was accordingly fixed, and Pat was introduced as 
a man of consequence and fortune. 

The mock hero now strutted about with assumed 
state and airs ; the old gentleman, on account of his 
supposed rank, received him with the greatest cordi- 
ality, and begged to know who the young gentleman*s 
father was. 

" Why my brother," cries Pat, " my brother, do ye 
see, was a very good sort of a gentleman, but not al- 
together as handsome as me." " And pray, sir, what 
fortune do you intend to give your nephew ?" 



412 

" What fortune ? — why 'faith and troth, honey, it's 
hard for me to say, when I don't know the extent of 
it myself." " Is it in lands, sir ?" " Lands — oh, aye-^ 
it's in the Comb — the Pottlehole — Pll give him a bit 
of the Liberty — a scrap or two of Meath-street — a 
few yards of Donny Brook, and — " '^ Why, sir, I 
never heard of such estates." " No ; then you were 
never in sweet Dublin." 

'^ I have heard many expatiate upon its beauties ; 
indeed, from the traveller's account, one may be apt 
to think it was the promised land, that overflowed 
with milk and honey." 

^- Milk and honey!" exclaims Pat, " oh honey ! oh, 
that's a singular union indeed !— why you mean milk 
and potatoes, you fool." 

The similarity of names did not agree with the fa- 
mily pride of the old gentleman ; of course a quarrel 
ensued ; Pat swearing by St. Patrick that he was as 
good as he ; and in order to prove it, called out for 
his master. 

The sound of master alarmed the old gentleman, 
but it did not in the least confound Pat, who recollect- 
ing himself, put it off with — " why, aye, did I not tell 
you I would make him master of the comb and pot- 
tlehole.'' 

The master appeared, and as his servant was ge- 
nerally going beyond the bounds, he applied a sly 
pinch in order to remind him of his duty — Pat gave 
a sudden roar, and swore, in a terrible manner, if he 
did that again he would divulge all. 

^^ AU what ?" cries the uncle " " Why what's that ^ 



41S 

to you r" rejoins Pat. " Must you know every thing, 
you old rogue ?" — ''Rogue ! sir, consider my family.'' 

It was with the greatest difficulty the young gen- 
tleman could restore peace and harmony, which at 
last he did, by assuring him, that in his country, rogue 
was an appellation of honour. 

" Oh yes,'' exclaims Pat, " we gentlemen are all 
rogues — but search the world through, there are not 
more honest rogues than the sons of Tipperary." 

The last scheme was to deceive the young lady. 
Pat was informed, that he must personate a chaplain, 
in order to give a mock ceremony, that miss might be 
deluded by a supposed private marriage. Our Irish 
hero was left alone to consider, and seeing the young 
lady at a distance, flew to meet her, and discovered 
the whole design. 

"He wants to make a gentleman in black of me, 
honey, but may the black gentleman seize me, if I 
wrong so much innocence." 

By this honest confession, the lady's honour was pre- 
served. In token of her gratitude, she persuaded her 
guardian uncle to take Pat (who w as accordingly dis- 
missed by his master) into his service, which place oqr 
son of Tipperary still retains, being honoured by his 
fellow servants, both for his birth and lineage. 



DELICATE BENEVOLENCE. 

Two young ladies of a distinguished family, in the 
city of Anch in France, were so far reduced in life as 



414 

to be compelled to gain their subsistence, with the 
greatest difficulty, by the labour of their hands. — 
Nothing was left of their once splendid fortunes, but 
some wretched furniture, and an old picture, of little 
value. The Archbishop of Anch having heard of 
their deplorable circumstances, instantly repaired to 
these unfortunate ladies, and being anxious to relieve 
them without wounding their delicacy, he said to 
them, with a smiling and affable air : " I am informed, 
ladies, that you have in your apartment a most 
valuable picture. I see it. It is by the hand of a great 
master. It particularly pleases me, and if it be not 
too great a favour, I would entreat you to part with 
it for a pension of one hundred louis, which shall 
commence this moment. 1 have brought the first 
year in advance." 



BUMOROUS INSTANCE OF STRONG SUPERSTITIOUS 
CREDULITY. 

A widow lady at Paris, aged about sixty-five, who 
lodged in a two pair of stairs floor, in the Reu de la 
Ferronerie, with only a maid servant, was accustom- 
ed to spend several hours every day before the altar 
dedicated to St. Paul, in a neighbouring church.— 
Some villains observing her extreme bigotry, resolved, 
as she was , known to be very rich, to share her 
wealth. One of them, accordingly, took the opportu- 
nity to conceal himself behind the carved work of the 



415 

altar ; and when no person but the old lady was there, 
in the dusk of the evening, he contrived to throw a 
letter just before her. She took it up, and not per- 
ceiving any one near her, supposed it came by a 
miracle. In this she was the more confirmed, when 
she saw it signed, Paul the Apostle ; he expressed the 
satisfaction he received by her prayers addressed to 
him, when so many newly canonized saints engross- 
ed the devotion of the world, and robbed the primi- 
tive saints of their wonted adoration : and to show 
his regard for the devotee, he promised to come down 
from heaven with the angel Gabriel, and sup with 
her at eight in the evening. It seems scarcely credi- 
ble that any one could be deceived by so gross a 
fraud ; yet to what length of credulity will not super- 
stition carry a weak mind ? The infatuated lady be- 
lieved the whole, and rose from her knees in trans- 
port, to prepare an entertainment for her heavenly 
guests. 

The supper being bespoke, and the side-board set 
out to the best advantage, she thought that her own 
plate, worth about four hundred pounds, did not 
make so elegant an appearance as might be wished : 
and therefore sent to her brother, a counsellor in the 
parliament of Paris, to borrow all his plate. The 
maid, however, was charged not to disclose the occa- 
sion ; but only to say that she had company to sup- 
per, and would be obliged to him if he would lend her 
his plate for the evening. The counsellor, surprised at 
the application, well knowing his sister's frugal life, 
began to suspect that she was enamoured of some 



41G 

fortune-hunter, who might marry her, and thus de- 
prive his family of what he expected at his sister's 
death. He therefore positively refused to send the 
plate, unless the maid would tell him what guest« 
were expected. The girl, alarmed for her mistress's 
honour, declared that her pious lady had no thoughts 
of a husband ; but St. Paul having sent her a letter 
from heaven, promising that he and the angel Gabriel 
would sup with her, she wanted to make the enter*- 
tainment as elegant as possible. 

The counsellor immediately suspected that some 
villains had imposed on her ; and sending the maid 
with the plate, proceeded directly to the commissary 
of that quarter. On the magistrate's going with him 
to a house adjoining, they saw, just before eight 
o'clock, a tall man, dressed in long vestments, with 
a white beard, and a young man in white, with large 
wings at his shoulders, alight from a hackney coach, 
and go up to his sister's apartments. The commis- 
sary immediately ordered twelve of the police guards 
to post themselves on the stairs, while he knocked at 
the door, and desired admittance. The old lady re*^ 
plied, that she had company, and could not speak to 
any one. But the commissary answered, that he must 
come in, for that he was St. Peter, and had come to 
ask St. Paul and the angel Gabriel how they came 
out of heaven without his knowledge. The divine 
visitors were astonished at this, not expecting any 
more saints to join them ; but the lady, overjoyed at 
having so great an Apostle with her, ran eagerly to 
the door, when the commissary, her brother, and the 



417 

police guards, rushing in, presented their muskets, 
seized her guests, and carried thern to prison. 

On searching the criminal*, two cords, a razor, and 
a pistol, were found in St. Paul's pocket, and a gag in 
that of the angel Gabriel. Three days after, the 
trial came on, when they pleaded in their own de- 
fence, the one was a soldier in the French infantry, 
and the other a barber's apprentice ; that they had 
no other design than to procure a good supper at the 
widow's expense ; that it being carnival time, they 
had borrowed these dresses, and the soldier having 
picked up two cords, put them into his pocket ; that 
the razor was that with which he constantly shaved 
himself; that the pistol was to defend them from any 
insults to which their strange habits might expose 
them in going home: and that the barber's appren- 
tice, whose master was a tooth drawer, merely had 
the gag which they sometimes used in their business. 
These excuses, frivolous as they were, proved of 
some avail ; and as they had manifested no evil de- 
sign by any overt act, they were both acquitted. 

But the counsellor, who foresaw what might hap- 
pen through the defect of evidence, had provided 
another stroke for them. No sooner, therefore, 
were they discharged from the civil power, than the 
aparitor of the Archbishop of Paris immediately 
seized them, and conveyed them to the Ecclesiasti- 
cal prison. In three days more they were tried, and 
convicted of a scandalous profanation, by assuming 
to themselves the names, characters, and appearances 
of a holy apostle and a blessed angel, with intent <o 

53 ' ' 



418 

deceive a pious and well meaning woman, and to the 
scandal of religion. They were accordingly con- 
demned to be publicly whipped, burnt on the shoul- 
der with a hot iron, and sent to the gallies for fourteen 
years. A sentence which was in a few days faith- 
fully put in execution. 



SINGULAR EXAMINATION 

BEFORE A JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. 

Justice, What have you to allege against the pri- 
soner ? 

Accuser. Please your worship's grace, I am come 
to prosecute him on the dog act. 

Prisoner. 'Tis a false charge ! I never stole a dog 
in all my born days ; and if any man should say I 
did, I would tell him he was a gallows liar to his face. 

Accuser. I say you are one of the most notedest 
dog-stealers in England, and I can prove as how you 
stole my bitch. 

Prisoner. As to my stealing a few bitches now and 
then, I don't pretend to deny. It is better to pick up 
a little money in an employment like this, than td 
lounge about like an idle vagabond. There is no harm 
at all in stealing bitches. 

Justice. 1 believe, fellow, I shall convince you to 
the contrary. 

Prisoner. You must not pretend to tell me law bet- 
ter than I know it. I was bred to the crown law, and 
served a regular clerkship to it among my brethren, 



419 

ill the neighbourhood of Chick-lane ; I think I should 
have made a figure if I had been called to the bar. 

Justice, Then you will shortl}^ have an opportunity 
of shining in your proper sphere. 

Prisoner. I should have been hanged many a ses- 
sions ago, if so be as I had not been clever in turning 
and twisting the acts of parliament. I have not stu- 
died law for nothing. Lord bless your dear worship's 
eyes, I have made the most learned judges going 
knock under to me. When I came to explain and 
identificate what law was, they hung down their ears, 
looked foolish, and had not a word to say for them- 
selves. 

Justice, Have you not stole the man's bitch ? 

Prisoner. I have. 

Justice, Then I shall convict you in the penalty of 
forty pounds. 

Prisoner, I have carefully perused the act of par- 
liament, and defy you, or any other dealer in the 
peace, to hurt a hair of my head. You must not pre- 
tend to teach those that can teach you. 1 know a 
thing or two, and if you don't mind what you are 
about, you may, perhaps, catch cold. 

Justice, If you threaten me, I shall commit you. 

Prisoner, You had better commit adultery. 

Justice, Is not a bitch a dog ? 

Prisoner. Is not your wife a justice of the peace ? 
Your worship won't pretend to say now that a cow is 
a bull. 

Justice. I insist upon it that, according to the true 
spirit of the statute, a dog and a bitch is exactly the 
same thing. 



429 

Prisoner. I dare you to convict me on the statute. 
The word bitch is not so much as mentioned in it. I 
had the opinion of my brethren upon this jig, and 
b . . . t me if I don't steal as many bitches as I come 
near, in spite of all the old women in the commission. 

Justice, If you call me an old woman again, I'll 
trounce you. 

Prisoner, Read that, and be convinced. (Presenting 
to the justice the act of parliament against dog stealing,) 

Justice, {After reading the act) Discharge this fel- 
low, I shall not venture to commit him. 

Prisoner, Lord help the poor law makers, they al- 
ways leave a hole for a man of ingenuity to creep out 
at ! If they have a mind to make their acts binding, 
they must consult one of us knowing ones, who are 
up to a thing or two, which is more than they are. 



ENVY REWARDED. 



Louis the Eleventh, whilst dauphin, passed some 
time at Burgundy, to conceal himself from the pur-- 
suits of the king his father ; he diverted himself with 
hunting, and called often at the house of a cottager to 
rest himself, who, having an excellent crop of turnips, 
often set them before the prince, and he frequently 
partook of them. At length, the king dying, the 
dauphin was, of course, exalted to the throne ; when 
the villager, at the solicitation of his wife, went to 
Paris, and carried the king some of the finest turnips 



421 

in the garden ; but, as he had neither money nor pro- 
visions, he eat all by the way, except one of the finest, 
which he reserved for his majesty. On his arrival 
he presented it to the king, who received it as a dia- 
mond of the same size, and placed it in his cabinet ; 
he gave the villager a thousand crowns, and sent him 
away. 

A courtier, perceiving how well the man was re- 
warded for so trifling a present, begged the king to 
accept of a fine horse, richly caparisoned, little doubt- 
ing of the same success. Louis, however, knowing 
the motive, stepped into his cabinet, and returned 
with a packet neatly wrapped up : " There," said he, 
'' take this, but I charge you not to open it in Paris." 
The courtier eagerly embraced the present, and ex- 
pecting shortly to behold a jewel, opened the packet, 
and found a turnip ! He immediately returned to Pa- 
ris, and going to the king, informed him he had mis- 
taken one thing for another. " I crave your pardon," 
said Louis, " I have bought your horse very dearly, 
since- the present I made you cost me a thousand 
crowns." 



THE DESPERATE LOVER. 



Kingston, Jamaica, has been for two years full of 
French emigrants. Many of them appear to have been 
people of fashion and fortune ; some few are from 
Martinico, but the greater part from Hispaniola. I 
do not know whether the following tragical story ever 
reached you : 



422 

A French planter of eminence in Hispaniola had 
taken refuge here with his lady, his daughter, about 
fourteen years of age, and his domestics in whom he 
confided, and who chose to follow his fortune. A 
Mr. Smith, the son of an eminent coffee planter here, 
and a subaltern of the first battalion of the Royal Scots, 
at present quartered in this island, fell deeply in love 
with the young lady, and, with his father's approba- 
tion, paid his addresses to her ; the young lady, like 
a dutiful daughter, referred him to her father, who 
refused his consent under various pretences. In the 
mean time, news was received that th^ second divi- 
sion of the army from old France, destined to quell 
the rebellion of. the slaves in Hispaniola, had ar- 
rived there. 

The French gentleman, with the hopes of peace 
being restored to that island, embarked with his fami- 
ly on board a schooner bound thither. Mr. Smith 
went on board in a boat, and renewed his entreaties 
to the planter to allow him to marry his daughter. 
The father remained inexorable ; Mr. Smith ill vain 
urged his suit. The vessel was now at some distance 
from the harbour, and the young lady, drowned in 
tears, was present on the quarter deck where this in- 
teresting scene passed. Mr. Smith, finding all his 
fentreaties fruitless, drew his SAVord in a transport of 
rage, and told the planter that nothing but the respect 
he owed the father of the woman he loved, prevented 
him hom putting him to death on the spot; and hav- 
ing repeated, what he had often declared during this 
interview, tliat he would not survive her loss, he bid 



423 

the young lady an everlasting farewell, and jumping 
overboard, instantly sunk. 

The boat was manned to pick up the body w^hen it 
rosCj but it never was seen. His unfortunate father, 
w hen the news reached him, in vain offered a reward 
of two hundred pounds to any person who would 
bring him the body of his son, that it might be de- 
cently interred, but it was never found. 

The vessel in a day or two made the land of His- 
paniola^but too late to reach their port that day: one 
night only intervened, as the planter thought, to pre- 
vent him returning in peace to his home ; but during 
that night, his domestics, headed by a favourite wait- 
ing man, rose, murdered every w^hite person on board 
except the young lady, whom the w^aiting man seized 
on as his prey, and taking the boat, w^ent on shore and 
joined the rebellious negroes, who are still unsub- 
dued. 



ANECDOTE OF MARESCHAL DE CATIXAT. 

This philosophic general was denominated by the 
soldiers, the Father of Thought. After the battle of 
Marsaille, gained by Catinat, while on all sides the 
acclamations of victory were still heard, and the ge- 
neral was surrounded by those who came to pay him 
their court, a veteran soldier of his regiment, piercing 
the congratulating crowd, threw himself at the ge- 
neraPsfeet, and in the name ef the whole corps beg- 



424 

ged for mercy in favour of one of the bravest of their 
comrades, who was just seized as a deserter, and who 
had the preceding evening, in thebattle, takena stan- 
dard, and made several prisoners. " Compose your- 
self, my friend," replied the general, as he assisted 
the veteran to rise ; " let the deserter come forward.'^ 
He then made his appearance ; and, " O ! my fa- 
ther," he cried, as he threw himself on the ground, 
" I am a gentleman, the son of an officer who was 
killed at the battle of Lens. My mother, left jvithout 
provision, and without protection, was obliged to 
labour for my subsistence and her own ; but age and 
infirmity soon rendered her unable to work, and re- 
duced us to wretchedness in the extreme. To sup- 
port my mother I enHsted. Soon after I had joined 
the regiment, I learned that she lay dangerously ill : I 
begged for permission to go and give her my assist- 
ance; that permission was refused me: unable to 
resist the impulse of nature, 1 left my colours to fly to 
her aid ; and as soon as she began to recover I re- 
joined the army. Such, O my father ! is the crime 
which I am now going to expiate with my life ; a 
crime, the disgrace of which I endeavoured yester- 
day to efface in the field of battle. I do not beg for 
mercy, but only that, when I shall be no more, some 
assistance be given to my poor mother." " My son," 
replied the general with vivacity, " why did you not 
come to me ? Or, if you conceived that 1 was barba- 
rous and unfeeling, why did you call me father ? Your 
birth, and still more your sentiments, entitle you to 
the rank of an officer ; a commission you shall have. 



425 

jour worthy comrade shall be rewarded. Go, 1 will 
inform the king of this affair ; continue to act as 
becomes a gentleman." Catinat solicited a pension 
for the unfortunate mother, and not succeeding at 
first in his application, he made her an annuity from 
his own purse, in the name of the king, that he might 
not hurt her dehcacy. 



VIRTUE AND VICE. 

Mr. Andrews had a friend who studied at a cele- 
brated university, and having a strong predilection for 
anatomy, took great pleasure in attending on dissec- 
tions. One evening he, with many others, were 
anxiously attending the commencement of that ope- 
ration on the body of a notorious malefactor, who lay 
stretched out on the table before them ; the surgeon, 
who had been placing it in a proper position, turning 
to the company, addressed them thus : " I am pretty 
certain, gentlemen, from the w^armth of the subject, 
and the flexibility of the limbs, that by a proper de- 
gree of attention and care, the vital heat w^ould return, 
and life, in consequence, take place. But then, when 
it is considered what a rascal we should again have 
among us ; that he was executed for having murdered 
a girl ; and that, w^ere he to be restored to life, he 
would probably murder somebody else; when all 
these things are coolly considered, I own it is my 
opinion that we had better proceed with the dissec- 

54 



426 

tion.^^ With these words, he plunged the knife into 
the breast of the carcase, and precluded at once all 
dread of future assassinations, or hopes of future re- 
pentance. 



A STRIKING INSTANCE OF COURAGE. 

When the Romans were at war with the Gauls, the 
latter advanced as far as the banks of the river Anio, 
within three miles of Rome. The Romans marched 
against them : the two armies continued some time 
in sight of each other, without coming to action, se- 
parated only by the bridge over the river. A Gaul, 
of a gigantic stature, advanced upon the bridge, and 
cried out with a loud voice, " Let the bravest man in 
the Roman army enter the lists with me ; the success 
of our combat shall determine which is the more va- 
liant nation." His extraordinary size and fierce looks 
struck the Romans with such awe, that for a long 
time not one in the whole army appeared to accept 
his challenge. At length young Manlius, who had so 
remarkably signalized his affection for his father, 
touched with a just sense of the affront offered to the 
Roman name, quitted his post, and flying to the dicta- 
tor, asked leave to encounter the enemy. '^ Though 
I were sure of victory," says he, " I would not fight 
this proud Gaul without your order; but, if you wilt 
give me leave, I will make this huge boaster know 
that I am of the blood of that Manhus whose valour 



427 

proved so fatal to the Gauls on the capitol.'' The dic- 
tator, who had been very uneasy that no Roman had 
accepted the challenge before, readily complied with 
tlie request of the brave youth. " Go, Manlius," said 
he, " and humble the pride of this insulting enemy ; re- 
venge the cause of the city where you first drew your 
breath, as successfully as you relieved him to whom 
you owe it." Upon this the young Roman, having 
changed the round buckler, which he wor^ as a Ro- 
man knight, for a square one, and armed himself with 
a short sword, fit both for cutting and stabbing, ad- 
vanced against the Gaul, who was strutting about in 
his armour, and making an ostentatious show of his 
strength Both Romans and Gauls retired to their 
respective posts, leaving the bridge free for the two 
champions. " The Gaul," says Livy, " began the 
combat by discharging a great blow with his long 
sword at Manlius, which made much noise, but did 
no execution ; hereupon the young Roman dexterous- 
ly slipped under his enemy's shield, and stabbed him 
in two places, so that he soon fell. The conqueror 
cut off his head, and without troubling himself about 
the rest of the spoils, only seized a golden collar, 
which he tore from his neck, and, bloody as it was, 
put it upon his ow n, in token of his victory ; and 
hence he got the surname of Torquatus, which he 
transmitted to his posterity. The event of this com- 
bat so discouraged the Gauls, that they abandoned 
^heir camp in the night, and retired into Campania. 



428 

SINGULAR CASE OF A MURDER, 

A French officer, going in a vessel from the Hague 
to Rotterdam, contracted an acquaintance with one 
of the passengers, a dealer in watches, who was 
going from the latter city to Brabant. The watch- 
maker was so well pleased with the patriotic effusions 
of his companion in the course of their passage, that 
when the vessel arrived at its place of destination, 
both resolved to halt at the same inn, which is called 
the Kiene Schippere Herberg. They supped together, 
and afterwards amused themselves at cards till one 
in the morning, when they agreed to sleep in one 
room, and at length even in one bed. Unfortunately, 
however, the tradesman had, either by accident or 
carelessness, exhibited to his new acquaintance a 
purse, richly stow^ed with ducats. The officer waited 
till sleep had closed the unsuspicious traveller's eyes, 
stopped his mouth with a handkerchief, and almost 
instantly plunged a sword into his breast. 

The instrument missing the unfortunate man's 
heart, he awoke, and struggled violently, but was not 
able to give any alarm. The officer, chagrined at the 
disappointment, continued to hack the miserable vic- 
tim till his intestines dropped out, and no signs of life 
appeared, when he dragged the body to a trunk, 
which belonged to the murdered person, in order thus 
to conceal the main evidence of this dreadful deed ; 
and by cutting the joints of the thighs and arms, 
which were brought Uy that means to rest on the 



429 

body, he succeeded in placing it in the tmnk, and 
again locked it. Being unable, however, to wipe up all 
the blood which deluged the bed and the chamber, he 
stabbed himself in a part where no danger could result, 
and returned in tranquillity to his pillow, w^here he 
actually slept so long the next morning, that the 
chambermaid conceived it her duty to inform the 
gentlemen of the late hour ; but obtaining no answ^er, 
she peeped through the key hole, and seeing the 
floor covered with blood, gave an instant alarm. The 
police officers attended, broke open the door, and af- 
ter a narrow search, discovered the horrible con- 
tents of the trunk. The Frenchman alleged, that 
what had happened was merely in his own defence, 
and showed his vvound, as a demonstration of the in- 
tention of the deceased ! He is, however, closely con- 
fined, but the friends of humanity suspect that the 
monster will escape his merited punishment. The 
mangled body was taken to the surgeons' hall at Rot- 
terdam, and exposed to public inspection for several 
days, in order to discover the unfortunate tradesman's 
name and family. 



SPANISH CRUELTY 



By the gloomy, the merciless dispositions of the 
Spanish conquerors of South America, the very name 
of Spaniard became an object of execration to the 
helpless victims of their insatiable fury. One of the 



430 

chiefs of the island of Cuba, named Hatway, who 
had, with uncommon res.okition, defended the liber- 
ties of his country, having been overcome and taken 
prisoner, he was condemned to be burned alive. As 
the unhappy prince, in consequence of the doom thus 
cruelly and unjustly awarded against him, advanced 
to the fatal stake at which he was to expire, a mis- 
sionary exhorted him to embrace Christianity, and as- 
sured him that, by this change of his religion, he 
would be admitted into paradise. " In this paradise, 
of which you so much boast, are there any Spa- 
niards ?^' demanded the chief. " Doubtless, there are," 
replied the missionary : " none, however, but good 
ones can enter into it." " Worthless are the best of 
them," returned Hat way ; " on no account will I 
agree to go into a place where 1 shall be in danger of 
meeting with an individual of the Spanish race. No 
more then of your religion ! let me die." 



THE SHIPWRECK. 



Mr. M was a gentleman of property, of one of 

the southern states. Though descended from a good 
family, he reprobated that species of affectation which 
supposes all inherent worth and goodness to consist 
in the length of one's pedigree : neither did he con- 
ceive it impossible that many virtues should exist un- 
connected with affluence and splendour. Surround- 
ed with every convenience, every luxury of life, he 



431 

lived happy — supremely so, in the embraces of a fond 
wife, and the caresses of a darling child. The little 
Fanny, just two years old, by the beauty of her coun- 
tenance, bid fair to reward the tender care of her 
parents. 

Such was the situation of affairs w^hen Mr. M 

was necessitated to take a voyage to Europe. Mrs. 

M insisted on accompanying him. Painful was 

the idea of separating ; painful was the thought of ex- 
posing his precious all to the mercy of the w inds and 
waves ; but he finally consented to the urgent solici- 
tations of his amiable Maria. The preparations w^ere 
made, and they set out with a propitious gale, and the 
most flattering expectations of an easy passage. Nor 
w ere their expectations for some time deceived : they 
already, in idea, beheld rough Albion's hoary cliffs ; 
already imagined their dangers pas , but, alas ! how 
blind to fate is man ! 

The heavens, on a sudden, are overcast, and that 
sky, which of late afforded the most serene prospect, 
is now shrouded in storms — the wind rises — old ocean 
roars — the steady pilot scarce maintains the helm — 
the sturdy seaman, who before had weathered many 
a gale, now trembles — night approaches — the tem- 
pest increases — the vessel drives as the wind and sea 
direct — the forked lightnings play, and serve to add 
new horror to the surrounding darkness — hark! the 
surf beating against the rocks is at a distance heard — 
every hope is lost — the boldest heart appals with fear. 

Till this moment Mr. M ■ had entertained some 

faint ideas that all might yet be v/ell — but hope is 



432 

now drowned in despair. Behold the husband clasp- 
ing to his breast the darling wife in agony of wo. 
Behold the tender mother embrace her lovely child, 
who, terrified by her repeated shrieks, responsive 
demands its wonted protection. But in vain— 
the vessel strikes — One universal shriek proclaims 
their aggregate despair. The vessel parts, and 
each, unmindful of his fellow, prefers his own 
safety. Some on broken planks trust to the gui- 
dance of the rolling waves. Mrs. M still em- 
bracing her beloved child, seizes on a large chest, 
to which she clings, till fainting with the enfeebling 
task, she had sunk to rest eternal, had not one wave^ 
more furious than the rest, driven her towards the 
shore, and retreating, left her extended on the sands — 
once more she exerts her strongest effort, and places 
herself and child beyond the reach of the returning 
wave. Anxious for the fate of her dear husband- — 
shivering in the cold, she waits the returning light. 
Scarce could exhausted nature support the mighty 
exertion — day light appears — in vain she casts her eyes 
upon that element, lately so turbulent, for some tra- 
ces of her late companions — all are buried in a wa- 
tery grave. Alone, unknown and unfriended, in a 
foreign clime, reduced from the height of affluence 
and ease, to the depth of misery and despair, behold 
her wandering to beg that charity, she once so wil- 
lingly bestowed. Among christians she hoped that 
most amiable tenet of their religion would not 
be forgotten. But alas ! she begs in vain ! The beau- 
teous babe, still hanging at her breast, whose cries, 



433 

@ne would think the most obdurate heart could not 
resist, is, to some, matter of derision and insult. 
Many were the repulses, many the mortifications she 
endured ; till at length, heaven, tired with persecut- 
ing merit so great, sends her a friend, who comforts 
her desponding soul, and lulls her cares to rest. She 
returned to her friends— returned to mourn her lost 
husband — returned to rear her babe, still more en- 
deared by her labours to preserve it. 



INSTANCE OF COURAGE IN TWO BOYS IN AMERICA. 

About the middle of October, 1 789, two brothers, 
by the name of Johnson, one twelve, the other nine 
years old, were playing on the western bank of Short 
creek, skipping stones in the water. At a distance 
they discovered two men, who appeared to be settlers, 
being dressed with coats and hats. These men, to 
amuse and deceive the children, (as the event show- 
ed,) engaged in the same sport, advancing towards 
them, till by degrees they got so near that the chil- 
dren discovered them to be Indians, but it was then 
too late to make their escape ; the Indians seized and 
carried them six miles into the woods, where they 
made a fire, and took up their lodging for the night ; 
their rifles and tomahawks they rested against a tree, 
and then laid down, each Indian with a boy in his 
arms. The children, as may be supposed, kept awake ; 
the oldest began to move, and finding his Indian sound 



434 

asleep, by degrees disengaged himself, and went to 
the fire, which had then got low, and stirred it np ; 
the Indian not waking, he whispered to his brother, 
who Hkewise crept away, and both of them went to 
the fire. The oldest boy then observed to his bro- 
ther, I think we can kill these Indians, and get away 
from them ; the youngest agreed to the proposal of 
attempting it : the oldest then took one of the rifles, 
and placed the muzzle, which he rested on a smnll 
stick that he found for the purpose, close to the head 
of one of the Indians, committing the execution of 
this part of the business to his brother, ordering him 
to pull the trigger at the moment he saw him strike 
the other Indian with one of the tomahawks. The 
oldest gave the signal ; the youngest pulled the trig- 
ger * the rifle shot away the lower part of the Indian's 
face, and left him senseless ; he then told his brother 
to lay on, for he had done for his ; after which he 
snatched up the gun and ran; the boy with the toma- 
hawk gave the stroke with the wrong end, and the In- 
dian started on his feet. The boy found the mistake, and 
turning the tomahawk in his hand, gave him another 
blow, which brought him to the ground ; he repeated 
his strokes till he had despatched him, and then made 
the best of his way after his brother. When the boys 
had found the path, which they recollected to have 
travelled before, the oldest fixed his hat on a bush, as 
a direction to find the place next day. The toma- 
hawked Indian was found near the place where the 
boys had left him : the other w^as not there ; but was 
tracked by his blood, and although so weakened by 



ASS 

his wounds that he could not raise his rifle to fire on 
his pursuers, (two men,) they suffered him to escape ; 
but it is supposed he must have died of his wound. 
These two Indians were sent out to reconnoitre the 
best place for an attack, which was to have been made 
by a body of warriors, Avaiting in the neighbourhood. 
The gentleman who gave this account saw and con- 
versed wiih the two children. 



THE DEVIL CHEATED BY A SHEPHERD. 

The following story relates the encounter of a pro- 
testant shepherd \vith a counterfeit devil, that attempt- 
ed to persuade him to renounce his faith for popery. 

The account is dated from Ummendorf, July, 1676, 
and is thus : In the bishopric of Halberstadt, there 
lives a poor shepherd, bred up in the protestant reli- 
gion, but of that kind which, from Martin Luther, 
are called liUtherans, differing in many ]X)ints from 
the Roman church, and holding consubstantiation, &c. 
Not far from the plains where he kept his sheep, was 
situated a monastery, or convent of monks, who had 
iiequently laboured with all the arguments they could 
use, to withdraw this shepherd from his profession, 
and bring him over to the Romish religion. How our 
shepherd was furnished with logic I cannot say, but 
it appears he wanted not a settled resolution, which 
remained proof against all their attempts ; wherefore, 
finding neither persuasion nor flatteries would preyaiV 



ASCy 

they proceeded to tbreatenings ; telling him, that if 
he persisted in heresy after so many ghostly admo- 
nitions, he should immediately be plagued with the 
devil, who would carry him away quickly into hell 
But he, not regarding such ridiculous nonsense, per- 
sisted still in his religion. Wherefore, two monks 
dressed themselves up in wonderful shapes ; the one 
very gay and beautiful, with a brave pair of wings, 
and other accoutrements, fit to represent him as a good 
angel ; the other in a frightful habit, personating the 
devil; and, being thus prepared, they came one night 
to the shepherd, as he was sleeping in the fields, in 
his car, a small hut going upon wheels, commonly 
used by men of his profession. 

The counterfeit angel first approached him, and 
with fair words and insinuations, tempted^ him to em- 
brace the Romish religion. But the good shepherd 
(possibly remembering that text, " if an angel from 
heaven should teach you any other doctrine than 
"what you have received, let him be accursed,") would 
in no wise hearken to him so as to return to popery — 
Whereupon, the seeming angel told him, if he vrould 
not obey his message, he must forthwith deliver him 
over to the devil 5 and finding his threats made no 
impression, he retreated ; and then presently came 
up his confederate, represjenting the devil's own pro- 
per person, with a dreadful noise and muttering, and 
to the great dismay of the trembling shepherd. 
But just as the mock devil made an offer to seize on 
him, the shepherd's dog, not being afraid, when he 
saw his master in danger, fell on the pretended fiend ; 



437 

when the shepherd perceived that the devil was not 
able to keep off the dog, his courage returned, and 
leaping out of his car with his hook in his hand, 
knocked down the supposed devil dead upon the 
spot, whom at daylight he discovered to be a neigh- 
bouring monk ; he buried him in the devil's dress, to 
prevent further trouble. But the confederate angel 
having fled at the sight of his companion's fall, re- 
turned the next day with more monks, to demand 
their brother. The shepherd at first denied the fact; 
but being carried before a magistrate, he scrupled 
not to declare, that as for the monk, he could give no 
account of him ; but that he had killed the devil, 
who attacked him last night in his car, and buried 
him, as related above. The magistrate immediately 
ordered the ground to be opened ; but the monk 
being found in his hellish dress, the monks thought it 
most prudent to drop the prosecution of the murderer. 



FILIAL PIETY. 



It has been often said that so many children make 
a bad return for the kindness they have experienced 
from their parents, and bring upon their old age such 
an accumulation of sorrow and affliction, that it is 
much better for men not to have any children, than 
to brino- them into the world under the chance of 
their turning out ill. But, sir, this is a bad mode of 
reasoning ; for, in the first place, the grounds on 



4S8 

which it is formed are erroneous ; and, in the next, it 
would destroy the population of the world, which 
God clearly means should be kept up. Suffer me 
here, sir, to relate a very remarkable instance of filial 
affection in a youth. 

On the banks of the Seine, just at the gates of 
PariSj is a magnificent pile of buildings, known by the 
name of the Royal Military School. Very near four 
huodred young gentlemen are there clothed, boarded, 
lodged and educated at the expense of the crown.— 
Being intended for the army, they are instructed in 
the theory of military tactics, which are reduced to 
practice in an extensive lawn lying before the house^ 
and which, from the exercises performed there, is call- 
ed the Campus Martins, or Champ de Mars. To be 
admitted into this school, a youth must be the son of a 
commissioned officer, and of noble birth, however de- 
cayed the father's fortune may be. When the edu- 
cation of the pupils is completed, they are always 
provided with commissions in some of the marching 
regiments before they leave the school. 

Some years ago, one of the young gentlemen ad- 
rnilted into the school ^vas remarked to abstain from 
fish and flesh meats ; and to take nothing at his meals 
but soop, and some bread and water unmixed with 
wine. The governor, who is always a general officer, 
being informed of this singularity, thought he was led 
to it by a fit of mistaken devotion, and ill judged 
Hiortilication, and therefore reproved him for want of 
discipline, in departing from the rules of the house. — 
The youth received the reproof with modesty and 



439 

humility ; He did not attempt to excu^fe himself, 
nor did he assign his motive for this mark of self-de- 
nial ; but nevertheless continued to live upon soup and 
bread and water. 

M. Paris de Verney, hearing this from the governor, 
sent for the young gentleman, and mildly represented 
to him how necessary it was to avoid the appearance 
of singularity, and to conform to the rules and orders 
of his superiors. The youth w^as silent ; on this M. 
de Verney thought it necessary to threaten the young 
man that he would send him back to his family, if he 
did not change his conduct in the particulars al- 
luded to. 

This forced the boy to speak out. " Alas, sir," 
said he, " since you will force me to speak, I will 
open my heart to you. When 1 w^as at home we had 
seldom any thing to eat but black bread, and in small 
quantities, and sometimes we had nothing to drink 
with it but w^ater. Here I have excellent soup, fine 
white bread, and as much of it as 1 please to eat ; so 
that wdth these only 1 live sumptuously, compared to 
what 1 did at home. When flesh meat, fish, poultry, 
and wine are set before me, I cannot for the soul of 
me touch them, for I recollect that my dear father 
and mother have nothing better than bread and wa- 
ter or a little soup for their support." 

At this mark of sensibility in so tender a youth, 
M. de Verney and the governor, who was also present, 
could not refrain from tears. " But sir," said the for- 
mer gentleman, " as your father bore a commission in 
the army, he must have had a pension for his sun- 



440 

port."— "Yes, sii-jbut it is very small; and my father 
being descended from a race of younger brothers, he 
has no other support. He once came from the coun- 
try to Versailles, in order to solicit an augmentation to 
his pension, his title to which was his long services, 
and ten children, for whom he was unable to provide ; 
but not being able to bear the expense of a long at- 
tendance at Versailles, he returned home to languish 
out the remainder of his life, rather than run into 
debt by attending the levees of the great." " Well, 
sir," said M. de Verney, " if, upon inquiry, I find the 
case to be as you state it, I promise you I shall ob- 
tain for your father an addition to his pension of five 
hundred livres a year. And," added he, " as your pa- 
rents have so little to spare, I presume they have 
been ill able to allow you any pocket money ; accept, 
therefore, these three louis d'ors, which I present you 
with in the name of his majesty, for your private use ; 
and as for your father, I will take care to remit to him 
immediately in advance the first half year's payment 
of the augmentation which I have promised to pro- 
cure him, and in which I am sure I shall not fail." 
" Pray sir," said the youth, " may I take the liberty to 
ask, how^ or by w hat conveyance you can remit the 
money ?" " Don't be uneasy on that head," rephed 
M. de Verney, " I'll find means to send it." " Ah ! 
then, sir," cried the child, " grant me one favour 
more." " What is it ?" said he. " Take back the 
three louis you were so good as to give me just now, 
and send them to my father. Here the king's boun- 
ty provides me abundantly with every thing I can 



441 

v^'aiit, this money therefore is useless to me; but it 
will be a treasure to my father^ and the rest of his 
children." 

M. de Verney tenderly embraced the boy, and from 
that moment became his declared friend and protec- 
tor. Who would not wish to be the parent of such a 
son ! Animated with such a soul, and adorned with 
such sensibility, he would give his parents, in this 
world, a taste of that bliss which the society of saints 
and angels affords in heaven. 



ANECDOTE OF A MISER. 



An opulent financier, had procured an iron door to 
be made for an obscure vault, in which he concealed 
his gold and silver, and where he daily went to pay 
his adorations to the deity Mammon. The maker of 
the ingenious lock warned him to be particularly at- 
tentive to a certain spring, lest it might prove fatal to 
him ; because if he neglected to fasten it while in the 
vault, he would be himself irrecoverably caught in the 
snare he had laid for others. 

Many years elapsed : the insatiate miser continued 
his accumulations, and regularly visited his hoard, 
He laid himself down among his treasure, numbered 
his bags with the feelings of a voluptuary, and ranged 
them in order in that obscure vault, the only shrine 
of his worship. One day, in his transports, whilst 
animated by the idol he adored, and enjoying all the 

5G 



U2 

pleasures of avarice, he neglected to fix the fatal 
spring ; the door closed upon him, and he remained 
for ever entombed with his money and despair. 

In vain he cries and roars, for he was in a dungeon 
distant and inaccessible to every living creature, and 
from which no sound could be heard : his only com- 
panions were gold and hunger; and he there died 
distracted in the midst of his bags, piled one above 
another, all of which he would gladly have exchanged 
for a glass of water or morsel of bread. Tedious and 
dreadful sufferings preceded his death ; and the hor- 
ror of his fate was not lessened or alleviated by the re- 
collection of one generous or benevolent action. — 
What a shocking exit for a financier, affording a new 
and terrible subject for a drama, where it may be ex- 
hibited as a dreadful lesson to misers. 

In the meanwhile, his family, ignorant of his fate, 
searched every where for him without success, as no 
body knew of the hiding place, which the caution of 
avarice had caused to be dug secretly. His sudden 
disappearance came at length to the knowledge of the 
locksmith, who, immediately suspecting the cause, 
discovered the mystery to the widow, by whose 
orders the iron door of the cave being forced open, a 
shocking spectacle appeared : the unhappy miser 
starved to death, extended upon his treasure, having, 
in his anguish, torn and devoured the flesh from his 
own arras. 



443 



ANECDOTE OF THE L.VTE DOCTOR YOUNG. 

This eminent writer was remarkable for the urba- 
nity of his manners, and the cheerfulness of his tem- 
per, prior to a most disastrous family contingency, 
which threw a shade on all the subsequent part of his 
life. He was once on a party of pleasure with afe w la- 
dies, going up the water, to Vauxhall gardens, and he 
amused them with a tune on the German flute. Behind 
him several officers were also in a boat rowing for the 
same place, and soon came along side the boat where 
the Doctor and the ladies were. The Doctor, who 
was not much conceited with his playing, put up his 
flute on their approach. One of them instantly asked 
why he ceased playing, or put the flute in his pocket ? 
"For the same reason," said he, " that I took it out, 
to please myself" The son of Mars very perempto- 
rily rejoined, that if he did not immediately take out 
his flute and continue his music, he would throw him 
into the Thames. The Doctor, in order to allay the 
fears of the ladies, pocketed the insult with the best 
grace he could, and continued his tune all the way 
up the river. During the evening, however, he ob- 
served the officer who had acted thus cavalierly, by 
himself, in one of the w^alks, and making up to him, 
said, with great coolness, "^►It was, sir, to avoid inter- 
rupting the harmony either of my company or your's, 
that 1 complied with your arrogant demand ; but that 
you may be satisfied courage may be found under a 
black as well as a red coat, I expect you will meet 
me to-moiTow morning at a certain place, without 
any second, the quarrel being entirely our own." 



444 

The Doctor furlber covenanted, in a very peremptorj 
manner, that the business should be altogether settled 
with swords. To all these conditions the officer im- 
plicitlj consented. The duellists accordingly met 
next morning at the hour and place appointed ; but 
the moment the officer took his ground, the Doctor 
presented to his head a large horse pistol. " What 1" 
said the officer, " do you intend to assassinate me ?" 
^' No,'' said ihe Doctor, ^'but you shall this instant 
put up your sword and dance a minuet, otherwise you 
are a dead man." Some short altercation ensued, 
but the Doctor appeared so serious and determined, 
that the officer could not help complying. "Nov»^, 
sir," said the Doctor, " you forced me to play yester- 
day against my will, and I have obliged you to dance 
this.-day against your's. We are again on an equal 
footing, and whatever other satisfaction you demand 
I am ready to give." The officer forthwith embraced 
the parson, acknowlt^dgcd his impertinence, and beg- 
ged that for the future they might live o^ terms of the 
sincerest friendsiiip, \vhich they did ever after. 



THE FORCE OF NATURE, 

An elderly French lady, retiring to a country seat, 
had only one child, a 200^ who was a handsome young 
man, but a gamester and debauchee. Destitute, at 
length, of other means to live, he associated with a 
BtroUing company of comedians, who, as it hap- 
pened, passed a short time at Worcester, near which 
town was the old lady's residence. After sustaining 
a few characterSj the young actor W'as discovered, and 



445 

the circumstance imparted to the mother. Though 
highly displeased with her son, she could not resist a 
wish to see him, and for this purpose went incog, to 
the theatre. The Gamester was the play, and the 
young man filled the principal part. During the re- 
cital of those passages which bore a resemblance to 
her son's bad conduct, the picture worked so strongly 
on her imagination, that she exclaimed aloud, " Aye, 
there he is! the beggar! the scoundrel! Always the 
same ! No changeling !" The delusion grew so strong 
in the fifth act, where Beverly lifts up his hand to kill 
the child, that the old lady, in a tone of voice the 
most distressing, cried out, "Wretch that thou art, 
don-t kill the child! 1 will take it home with me." 



A PIOUS FRAUD. 



The following pious fraud lately occurred at the open- 
ing of a new Methodistical meeting at Bell Bar, near 
Enfield Chaft : A person, apparently a gentleman, 
passing by on horseback, and seeing a great number 
of people waiting at the doors, after inquiring the 
cause, and understanding that it was the day appoint- 
ed for the opening of the same, by a minister from 
London, and that a collection was to be made, &:c. 
waited till after service began, when alighting from 
his horse, he went in, and joined in the service. In a 
short time he pulled out a purse, and putting a guinea 
into his hat, weiit round the congregation, who, in- 
fluenced by his example, contributed very liberally. 
Though this conduct in a stranger was rather unac- 
countable, it passed very well with the minister, who 



446 

imputeci his zeal to a sudden conversion of the sub- 
ject, as collections in the middle of the service are 
common in conventicles. Notwithstanding this, the 
surprise of the whole congregation was inexpressible, 
when, instead of going into the vestrj, they saw the 
new convert making towards the door. The minis- 
ter and tethers called upon him to deliver up his 
charge, which he refused, saying, ^'My brethren, free- 
ly have ye given, and freely have I received ;" and in- 
stantly remounting his horse, which was an exceeding 
good one, he left the congregation to expatiate on (he 
damnable nature of apostacy. 



ACCOUNT OF A REMARKABLE DREAM. 

A PEDLAR, who lived many years ago at S waff ham, 
in Norfolk, dreamed, that if he went to London, and 
stood upon London bridge, he should hear very joy- 
ful news. This he at first slighted, but afterwards 
his dream being doubled and trebled unto him, he 
resolved to try the issue of it; and accordingly to 
London he w ent, and stood on the bricke for two or 
three days, but heard nothing which might give him 
comfort, that the profit of li is journey might be equal 
to his pains. 

At last it so happened that a shop-keeper there, 
having noted his fruitless standing, seeing that he 
neither sold any wares, or asked any alms, went to 
him, and inquired his business : to which the pedlar 
made answer, that being a countryman, he had 
dreamed a dream, that if he came to London he 
should hear good news. 



447 

" And art thou," said the shop-keeper, " such a foci 
as to take a journey on such a foolish errand ?" " Why 
I tell thee this— last night I dreamed that I was at 
Swaffham, in Norfolk, a place utterly unknown to 
nie, where, methought, behind a pedlar's house, in 
a certain orchard, under a great oak tree, if I digged 
there, I should find a mighty mass of treasure. Now 
think you that I am so unwise as to take so long a 
journey upon me, only by the instigation of a fool- 
ish dream ! No, no ; far be such folly from me; there- 
fore, honest countryman, I advise thee to make haste 
home again, and do not spend thy precious time in 
the expectation of the event of an idle dream !" 

The pedlar, who noted well his words, glad of such 
joyful news, went speedily home, and digged under 
the oak, where he found a very large heap of money ; 
with part of which, the church being then lately fallen 
down, he very sumptuously rebuilt it; having his 
statue cut therein, in stone, with his pack on his 
back, and his dog at his heels, which is to be seen at 
this day : and his memory is also preserved by the 
same form, or picture, on most of the glass windows 
of the taverns and ale-houses in that town. 



A MURDERER DISCOVERED. 

A man was once taken up on suspicion of murder, 
but, when brought to the bar, the evidence appeared 
not strong enough to convict him. He behaved with 
great apparent boldness, for he knew there were no 
vi'itn.esses to the fact ; and he had also taken all the 




necessary precaution to prevent a discovery. ""But the 
judge observed in the man's countenance a terror 
and confusion vs^hieh his pretended boldness could 
not hide, and therefore kept his eye steadily fixed on 
him. the whole time. As soon as the last witness was 
dismissed, the man asked if they hSd any njpre evi- 
dence against him, when the judge, looking sternly at 
him, asked him if he did not himself know of one 
more that could appear against him, whose presence 
would put the matter out of doubt? On which the 
man started, and cried ou,t — " My lord, he is not a le- 
gal witness ! no man can speak in his own cause ; 
nor was the vi^ound I gave him, half so large as what 
he shows against me." The judge presently perceived 
by the man's starting, and the wildness and terror in his 
look, that he either saw the ghost of the murdered 
man, or that his imagination had, from his guilty con- 
science, formed such an appearance ; and, therefore, 
making the proper answers from such a supposition, 
he soon brought the murderer to confess the fact ; 
for which he w^as condemned, and hanged in chains 
at the place where he declared the murder had been 
committed. At his death he averred that the ghost 
of the murdered person had appeared before his eyes 
at the trial. 



THE END. 



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